


call me mr. park

by unniebee



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: BDSM, M/M, Multiple Partners, Porn With Plot, Threesome - M/M/M, please see notes for further warnings and kinks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-07-19 22:08:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 91,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7379287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unniebee/pseuds/unniebee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Your lover is concerned about your stress levels,” Mr. Park says, his fingers trailing against Kris’s palm as their hands separate.  “He’s asked me to help you.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _**further warnings:** flogging, wax play, puppy play, sex toys, electroshock play, kinbaku/suspension play, slut shaming, bukkake, rough sex, voyeurism, size kink, public sex, dirty talk, barebacking, rimming, minor blood/injury, minor breathplay. all kinks are 100% consensual._
> 
>  
> 
> _also: depictions of unhealthy eating habits that could potentially be triggering to some._
> 
> _also also: this fic is not vegan-safe. if you are disturbed by descriptions of leather or animal fur, please do not read._  
>   
> 
>  
> 
> **disclaimer:** i am not a member of the BDSM scene. i did my best to research everything that i could, but if there are any inaccuracies or misinformation, please comment and let me know.

Kris had known that Kyungsoo was worried about him.

“You’re killing yourself,” his boyfriend would say, on more than one occasion. “You’re not Superman, you need to learn how to let go of some things.”

But, thanks to the untimely death of his parents, Kris is the sole owner and chief executive officer of a fast-growing fashion house at the tender age of 29, and there is just too much resting on his broad, but bony, shoulders. Too much he can’t delegate, too much he can’t trust to anyone else.

The worst part is, he knows it isn’t fair to Kyungsoo, who has been a champ about supporting him through the shitstorm that has been the past three years. Now, he’s finally sorted through the fortune his parents left to him, split up into properties and investment funds and assets, all with their own risks and taxes and weighed down with grief and obligations. Now, he’s finally convincing his senior officers and designers that he is just as capable of running the label as his mother, has just as discerning an eye for fashion as his father.

He finally feels like the ground is no longer sliding out from underneath him, but he knows the only reason he never actually fell was Kyungsoo behind him, holding him up.

Kris tries to repay his lover for his devotion. Kyungsoo knows he can have anything he wants, anything money can buy. He never asks, though, which makes Kris all the more eager to spoil him, though he tries to match Kyungsoo’s austere taste. Expensive but understated jewelry, taking him along on business trips to enjoy the sights while Kris is in meetings, having lunch delivered to his work from nice restaurants, that kind of thing. Kris tries to carve out enough time to actually see Kyungsoo, to spend time with him. It’s the brightest spot in his week, but it’s never enough.

Which is why, when Kris finally gets home after yet another twelve hour day - exhaustion in his bones and wanting nothing more than to curl his long body around Kyungsoo’s smaller one and fall asleep - and finds a stranger sitting with Kyungsoo in the kitchen, his heart sinks into his toes.

“Hey, you're home,” Kyungsoo says, and oh no, he sounds _nervous_ , Kyungsoo is never nervous. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”

The other man stands and turns, and Kris gets his first look at the man Kyungsoo is leaving him for. To his dismay, the man is extraordinarily handsome, as tall as Kris is himself in a dark suit nearly as expensive. His hair is cropped stylishly short in back, but long on top, and dyed a deep silvery blue-gray, the exact hue shifting in the light as his head moves. His dark eyes, round and expressive, meet Kris’s steadily as he extends his hand. Kris takes it, and can’t help but notice that unlike the majority of people Kris has ever met, this man’s hand is large enough that it doesn’t get totally engulfed in Kris’s own.

“This is my boyfriend, Yifan,” Kyungsoo says to the man, and wait. Wait. Kris shoots a surprised look at Kyungsoo. First of all, he’s still being introduced as Kyungsoo’s _boyfriend_ , so is that a good sign? And secondly, Kyungsoo knows Kris goes by his professional name 99% of the time - now that his parents are gone, no one calls him Yifan.

Kyungsoo’s eyes widen momentarily, a pointed look that Kris interprets to mean _just go with it_. More curious now than worried, Kris looks back at the man with the silver hair. The man smiles at him, just slightly, one corner of his mouth quirked up knowingly.

“A pleasure, Yifan,” he says, and oh holy _shit_. Kris has a deep voice, one that sometimes catches people off guard, but this man’s voice is considerably deeper, rich and dark and resonant, with a sultry cadence that punches Kris right in the gut and leaves him gaping like a fish. “Please, call me Mr. Park.”

No given name? And an English honorific, when the man is clearly Asian, probably native Korean if his accent when he says _mister_ is anything to go by. Now Kris is _definitely_ curious. “Nice to meet you, too,” he says, and firms his grip around Mr. Park’s warm, broad palm. “Kyungsoo, what’s going on?”

Kyungsoo opens his mouth, then closes it again, looking sheepish. He glances up at Mr. Park, as if to say _I don’t know, you explain_.

To Kris’s surprise, Mr. Park _is_ the one to explain. “Your lover is concerned about your stress levels,” he says, his fingers trailing against Kris’s palm as their hands separate. “He’s asked me to help you.”

Kris glances between them. “I don’t understand.”

“Simply put,” Mr. Park murmurs, “I am a Dominant in the local BDSM community.”

Kris blinks in surprise. “Oh,” he says. “ _Oh_.”

“It’s just a thought,” Kyungsoo says hurriedly, reaching out to put his hand on Kris’s shoulder. “You’re just under so much pressure all the time, I thought maybe you might enjoy letting someone else be in control for a change.” His teeth sink into his lower lip nervously. “If it’s stupid, just say so.”

“No, I -” Kris halts, looking Mr. Park up and down with fresh eyes. His posture is perfectly straight, his suit perfectly pressed, and he looks so much more perfectly in control than Kris feels that Kris finds he really could see himself letting Mr. Park dominate him. Not that he… really knows what that entails, exactly. “I’d be open to trying it,” is what he finally says.

It wins him a smile from Mr. Park, slightly wider than the first, but still a bit crooked. He is _very_ handsome. “I’m glad to hear that,” Mr. Park says. “We have a lot to discuss, then. Perhaps you’d like to get settled first?” He gestures at the briefcase still in Kris’s other hand, the heavy coat still around his shoulders. Kris nods, and sets his case down and hangs up his coat before rather awkwardly moving past Mr. Park and down the hall to his bedroom to change.

Generally, he would be changing directly into his pajamas right now, or something comfortable and ratty if he was planning to be up for a while longer. But there’s a stranger in his house, and one that he rather feels he should impress, so he only hangs up his suit jacket and changes from his slightly sweaty white button-down shirt into a clean one, more stylish than formal in dark wine red. He rolls his sleeves up and leaves his fitted charcoal slacks as they are and returns to the living room.

Kyungsoo is curled in the corner of the couch, looking hopeful and nervous and generally adorable. Mr. Park, on the other hand, is sprawled with casual elegance in the armchair, one long leg crossed over the other knee. His eyes slide down Kris’s body as Kris enters, and Kris’s ears warm. He takes a seat next to Kyungsoo, automatically holding out an arm to invite his lover to cuddle him. Without hesitation, Kyungsoo does so, tucked under Kris’s arm with a reassuring hand on his knee.

“If you’re ready,” Mr. Park says, “I’ll be asking you some questions. It’s important when entering into a relationship like this that everyone agree on exactly how it will work.” Kris and Kyungsoo both nod, and Mr. Park smiles. “Alright, then. You’re in a committed relationship and so the very first thing we must discuss, before anything else, is how involved Kyungsoo will be in my relationship with you.”

Kris looks at Kyungsoo, who looks back but remains silent, clearly intending for it to be Kris’s decision. “What are my choices?” Kris asks carefully.

“Anything you like,” Mr. Park says, his smile gentle. “If you want to keep the two relationships completely separate, we can do that. If you would prefer Kyungsoo be an active participant, that is also possible. Or, perhaps, he may have the option of watching, but not participate. It is completely up to you.”

Sitting back, Kris thinks about it. “I… I think I’d prefer if he was involved,” he says finally. “Is that okay, Soo?”

Kyungsoo nods. “I’d prefer that too,” he admits. “But I’m not interested in being a submissive.”

Mr. Park nods back. “That’s perfectly doable. Would you prefer to know my plans for a scene ahead of time?”

Clearly, that possibility had not occurred to Soo. “Um. I think… At first, maybe?” He’s still chewing on his lip, the only outward sign of his discomfort. “It’d give me peace of mind, I think.”

“Good, that’s important.” Mr. Park nods to Kyungsoo. “We can work out the details of that separately. If that’s settled, let’s talk about limitations.”

Kris assumes he’s talking about Kris’s limitations, but to his surprise, the first thing they discuss is the limitations of the relationship itself.

“I’m a paid Dom,” Mr. Park says. “This should be treated as a professional service, not a relationship. Whatever we do is negotiated ahead of time and _this_ -” he gestures between himself and the couch “- doesn't exist outside of that.” He smiles. “I’m not your boyfriend, and not trying to be.”

“What about your rates, then?” Kris asks. He's got the money, he's sure, but he wants to know anyway.

“I’ll handle the payment, babe,” Kyungsoo says, to Kris's surprise. “Don’t worry about that.”

Kris wants to protest, but he knows Kyungsoo is well-off in his own right, and he also knows arguing with Soo on this would be fruitless. So, he keeps his mouth shut, and just nods.

Mr. Park goes on to ask them about where they want to see him, when, how often. Then come the more intrusive questions - how do you feel about trying bondage? How about sensory play? Roleplaying? Crossdressing? Which sex acts are off the table?

Kris tries to answer, but for most of the questions, all he can come up with is _I don’t know_. Half of the stuff Mr. Park mentions, he’s never once in his life considered doing with any seriousness, and some of it, he’s never even _heard of_.

“Alright, then,” Mr. Park finally says. “I suppose for most of this, we’ll simply have to try it and see.” He eyes them both. “I generally prefer not to start the first session immediately after the interview, and it’s getting late. Shall we call it a night?”

Kyungsoo nods, but Kris blurts out, “When is the first session?”

A crooked, enigmatic smile. “I will let you know. We will also discuss safe words to be used in-scene later, before the session. Is that acceptable?”

Safe words. That’s only a _tiny_ bit freaky. “That’s fine,” he says.

Mr. Park nods. “Good.” He stands, and Kris automatically stands as well. “I have Kyungsoo’s number, so expect me to reach out in a day or so, alright? Yifan, it would be wise to let Kyungsoo know what your schedule looks like so that I may coordinate with him.”

Shrugging, Kris says, “He’s already copied on it.”

“Excellent. Then, good night, gentlemen. Yifan… I look forward to seeing you again.” This time, his smile is sharp and toothy, like a shark’s. It leaves Kris’s heartbeat stuttering a little as he watches Mr. Park let himself out of the flat without another word.

Kyungsoo lets out a long breath. “Well,” he says. “That went much better than I expected.”

Kris turns to look at him. “When I saw him in here,” he says, speaking without thinking, “I thought he was your lover, and you were going to tell me you were leaving me.”

Dark, round eyes go painfully wide, and Kyungsoo hurriedly gets to his feet. “No no no,” he whispers, wrapping arms around Kris’s waist and squeezing him tight. “Never think that, baby. I love you. I’m not going anywhere.”

Burying his face in Kyungsoo’s hair, Kris sighs. “Thanks, Soo,” he murmurs. 

“Yeah, well, I just hope Mr. Park can help you,” Kyungsoo replies. “It kills me to watch you kill yourself.”

Kris closes his eyes and doesn’t answer. He just holds Kyungsoo closer.

 

~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~

 

_Kyungsoo (4:49PM):_  
_Mr. Park wants to see you tonight._

Kris stares at the text. It takes him a moment to remember what Kyungsoo’s even talking about. Once it comes to him, he sits back in his chair, digesting that.

_Kris (4:51PM):_  
_When and where?_

_Kyungsoo (4:52PM):_  
_8PM, and he sent me an address. I figure I’ll come pick you up and we can go to dinner first?_

Kris glances at the clock. It’s already almost five, and his stack of work is actually higher now than it was when he walked in the building this morning.

_Kris (4:52PM):_  
_I can’t, baby, I’m sorry. Come get me at 7:30 and we’ll go?_

There’s a long pause. Kris can practically see Kyungsoo pursing his lips unhappily, but there’s nothing to be done. He’s already behind, he can’t let it get any more out of hand.

_Kyungsoo (4:55PM):_  
_Okay, I will. Make sure you eat something._

And Kris intends to, really. It’s just that these new designs are terrible and he’s getting increasingly frustrated with his creative director’s appalling taste. Nothing like this ever came out under his father’s regime - was that because his father was overruling it, or because the creative director just knew better than to present this kind of avant-garde crap to him?

Every design needs to be reviewed and either approved or denied, with comments. Kris is nearly halfway through when his phone rings, startling him. He glances at the caller ID, glances at the clock, and swears.

“Shit,” he says when he picks up the call. “Is it 7:30 already?”

“Good job,” Kyungsoo says dryly. “You ready to go?”

Kris glares at the stack of designs in front of him. “No, but if I see one more design with spiked shoulder pads I might pop,” he growls. “I’m on my way down, gimme just a minute.”

One minute turns into ten as Kris scrawls down comments on the last design he was looking at, and he ends up sprinting down the stairs three at a time with his jacket over his arm instead of actually on him. “I’m here, I’m here,” he breathes, sliding into the passenger seat. “Sorry.”

Kyungsoo eyes him. “It’s not me you’re going to have to apologize to,” he says, “it’s Mr. Park.”

Kris sobers. It’s a good point, and one he contemplates as Kyungsoo pulls away from the curb. He doesn’t really know how this is going to go, how… well, how strict Mr. Park will be. And, honestly, the whole Dom thing aside, being late for his first, um, _appointment_ is not exactly good manners.

When Mr. Park answers the door, though, he doesn’t comment, doesn’t ask. He just gestures for them to come in and closes the door behind him.

Both Kyungsoo and Kris look around the small flat curiously as Mr. Park takes their coats. It’s painted light grey and accented with pretty, sleek furniture in royal purple, black, and darker grey, and it looks completely and utterly unlived in, sterile. It can’t possibly be his home - he must maintain it for these purposes only.

“Please, have a seat,” Mr. Park says. The depth of his voice startles Kris slightly - he’d forgotten about it. He sits on the purple couch, Kyungsoo at his side, and Mr. Park in his light grey suit sits on the dark grey armchair, a near-mirror of how they sat in Kris’s own living room the first night.

“I’m sorry we’re late,” Kris says. “I got caught up with work.”

Mr. Park glances briefly at Kyungsoo, but when Kris looks over, his lover is impassive. “It seems that happens a lot,” he murmurs, and, well, Kris can’t argue with that. “Tonight is your introduction, Yifan, so this will be very mild. I’ll be touching on some light sensation and flogging play, nothing serious, and nothing sexual. Is that okay?”

Flogging. Kris blinks. “Will it hurt?”

A shadow of a smile. “Not unless you want it to.” 

Kris isn’t sure how that works, exactly, but he supposes he’s about to find out.

“Why are you asking me?” Kris asks, confused. “Shouldn’t you be _telling_ me what to do?”

One dark eyebrow raises. “Once we go through that door,” Mr. Park says, “I will be, and you will obey me.” And though Mr. Park has not made a move his direction, has been nothing but perfectly genteel and polite, Kris feels his heartbeat starting to pick up, a thread of adrenaline sliding into his veins. “What we’re about to do right now, though,” he continues, “is called negotiating. We’ll do this before every play date. We’ll decide, together, what will go on in the playroom.” Another smile. “Once I have a feel for your limitations, and you trust me, _then_ we can establish ongoing rules.”

“That makes sense,” Kyungsoo says. He sounds relieved. Kris wonders how much he’s been questioning his decision this past week.

“Okay, so what else?”

Mr. Park cocks his head. “How do you deal with pain?” he asks. “Or intense sensation?”

Kris frowns, not understanding the question. “I thought you said it wouldn’t hurt,” he says.

“I said it wouldn’t hurt unless you wanted it to. Chances are good, though, that you _will_ want it to. How will you react? Do you swear? Cry? Lash out?”

What the heck does that mean? “Um… I tend to lash out, actually.”

A nod. “Do you object to being restrained, then?”

Beside him, Kyungsoo sits up a little straighter. “Restrained how?” he asks, before Kris can get to it.

“Standing, with padded cuffs at the wrist and ankles,” Mr. Park says immediately. 

Kris blows out a breath and nods - that doesn’t sound terrible. “That will be fine,” he murmured.

“Good. I will be checking in with you regularly, but even so I require a safeword. I usually use _yellow_ to mean _slow down_ , and _red_ to mean _stop everything_. Understand?” Kris nods again. “Good. Any questions for me?” 

Kris feels like he _should_ have questions, but his mind is blank. “No.”

“Alright then. When you go in the playroom, you’ll see a table with my tools. Look them over. Touch them, swing them, whatever you like. Get to know them a little. Kyungsoo and I will be in to join you in just a moment.” He gestures at the door. Awkwardly, Kris gets up off the couch and goes through, closing the door behind him.

This room is bigger, and even more bare. The walls are the same rich royal purple as the couch in the previous room, illuminated by the gentle glow of precisely placed track lighting, and the carpet is pale grey and very plush. Kris feels odd walking on it in his Italian leather shoes.

The centerpiece of the room is a large black St. Andrew’s cross against the far wall. There’s metal O-rings bolted at intervals along all four arms, and a padded section up the center, and it hits Kris very hard that _he is about to be tied to that_. The only thing that keeps him from turning right back around and marching out of that room is Mr. Park’s careful, controlled attitude, and the fact that Soo will be right there with him the entire time.

There’s another piece of furniture in the corner, just as black and imposing, but its purpose is not immediately clear. There’s also an armchair, a cabinet, and a sideboard along the wall atop which the toys Mr. Park mentioned are laid out.

Kris goes to check them out, and has to brace his hands on the sideboard and stare. Laid out in a neat line are three leather floggers in different colors and thicknesses, several different paddles, a riding crop, two canes, and an honest-to-God _bullwhip_. There’s also some weirder things - a feather duster, a piece of what appears to be real rabbit fur, three pairs of gloves (satin, leather, and leather with metal-spiked palms), and a weird spiked wheel thing Kris doesn’t have a name for.

He stares for a long moment. Never before has he been so intimidated by inanimate objects.

But Mr. Park said he should get to know them, so Kris does just that, picking them up each in turn to feel their textures, their weights. The gloves are just big enough to fit over his massive hands, and Kris, who is used to having the largest hands in the immediate vicinity, can’t help but shiver a little bit at the thought that Mr. Park’s are as big as his own.

The door opens, and Kris jumps as if shocked. He reminds himself that he’s not doing anything wrong and turns.

Mr. Park closes the door behind Kyungsoo, who goes silently to the corner and sits rather gingerly in the armchair. “If you are ready,” Mr. Park says, “we will begin.”

Well. Here goes. “I’m ready,” Kris says.

Mr. Park’s chin raises. “Remove your shoes, socks, and shirt and kneel in the center of the room.”

Kris blinks in shock. The politeness is completely gone from Mr. Park’s voice, leaving behind a deep, chest-rumbling growl that smacks Kris right in the gut. Mr. Park’s eyebrow raises, and Kris is suddenly hurrying to comply.

He’s got his shirt in his hands and is toeing off his shoes when he realizes he’s not sure where to put his clothes. He looks up, the question on his lips, but Mr. Park must have been anticipating it, because he points at Kyungsoo. Kris pads over and hands his clothes to Kyungsoo, who takes them, and reaches out to run a hand down his arm.

“I’m only going to watch today,” Kyungsoo murmurs softly. Kris nods, takes a deep breath, and returns to the center of the room, dropping to his knees as instructed.

Mr. Park comes near, standing over him. Kris looks up. From this angle, Mr. Park looks _very_ tall, and quite imposing. He’s pulled on the plain leather gloves, and is holding a pair of thick, black leather cuffs in his fingers, the insides padded with black-dyed sheepskin.

“Give me your right wrist,” Mr. Park commands. Kris presents his arm, and Mr. Park’s leather-clad fingers buckle the cuff snugly around it. “Yifan,” Mr. Park says, as he gestures for the other wrist. “These cuffs are yours. They have never been used on anyone else, and never will be. They were purchased especially for you, and when you wear them, they mark you as mine. Do you understand?” Kris nods. “Good. Did you see any tools you do not want me to use on you?”

Kris raises his other arm and thinks about it. “The bullwhip,” he says softly. “The spiked gloves.”

“Address me as Mr. Park or Sir when you speak. Only those two things?”

Oh. Kris thinks about it. “I don’t think… the biggest paddle, either. Sir.”

A nod. “Very well. Are these comfortable?” Kris nods. “Good. Stand.” He does. Mr. Park drops to one knee, producing a second set of cuffs from somewhere, these bigger, thicker. “Stand still.” Kris obeys, and Mr. Park’s big hands fold up the hem of his jeans, slide a cuff around his ankle and buckle it firmly. He tests the fit with two fingers, and then repeats the action on the other leg.

Mr. Park stands, rising until he’s eye-to-eye with Kris. “Comfortable?” he asks, and Kris nods. “Get on the cross, face down.” 

He’s moving before his mind catches up, already standing in front of the imposing black-painted contraption when it hits him. He smiles at himself, amused at how quickly and mindlessly he follows Mr. Park’s orders. That deep, commanding voice makes it easy to obey.

The cross has footplates bolted to the bottom of the legs. Kris steps up onto them, letting his chest and belly rest against the padded section. The cross is bolted to the wall at a slight angle, and it’s actually… rather comfortable to lean on it. His long legs are spread enough for stability, not too far apart, and there’s a padded headrest against the wall that his forehead can fall against.

A light touch of leather between his bare shoulderblades lets Kris know that Mr. Park is behind him. “Hands,” he says shortly, his fingers trailing up one shoulder and down to the wrist. Kris lets Mr. Park move him, clipping the rings on his cuffs to the rings on the cross with heavy black carabiners, wrists and ankles both. He keeps in contact with Kris’s skin at all times, so Kris always knows where he is and can predict what he’s going to do next.

Then he steps back, and his touch falls away. “You look beautiful, Yifan,” he murmurs, and Kris hears Kyungsoo make a small noise of agreement. “You’re built perfectly for the cross.” Soft footfalls move away and then come back - Mr. Park has gone over to the sideboard. Kris finds out why in the next moment, when soft strands of leather trail delicately up the length of his spine, from the small of his back all the way to his hairline.

Kris closes his eyes instinctively, pressing his forehead to the headrest, his shoulders tightening in anticipation. A leather-covered palm smooths over them, soothing. It’s a nonverbal direction as commanding as a voiced one, and Kris takes a deep breath and consciously forces himself to relax.

“Very good,” Mr. Park praises, his voice deep and breathy and close to Kris’s ear. Kris shivers. 

“This is a deerskin suede flogger; it’s the gentlest one I own. Please be vocal about how it feels. Remember, you have an audience.” His hand smooths over Kris’s shoulder blade one last time, and then he strikes.

It isn’t a hard hit - it can’t be more than a flick of the wrist. The tails land across Kris’s shoulder blades, a fleeting sting soothed quickly by the soft suede dragging down over the skin. It’s followed by the warmed leather of the glove stroking over the struck area, taking any lingering sensation with it.

“Okay?” Mr. Park murmurs. Kris nods. That wasn’t bad at all.

Mr. Park strikes his other shoulder. The same pattern - flogger, then glove. He trails the tails up Kris’s spine again, wiggling it a little so the tails tickle against his skin. Kris arches into it instinctively, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

The next set of strikes are a little harder, a little faster, but Mr. Park’s leather-clad hands soothe the sting away. And this time, the tickle is taken up his right side and out to his elbow, then back across the shoulders to the other elbow and down his left side. It makes Kris squirm away, biting his lip to keep from laughing.

Mr. Park chuckles in his ear. “Cute,” he murmurs, and Kris feels heat rise to his cheeks. The glove traces a long line down his spine, and then Mr. Park starts in with a steady rhythm of soft lashes. 

_Whap. Whap. Whap._ They’re spaced far enough apart that Kris can feel each one sting and fade. He’s tense at first, but as the beat remains steady, he starts to go numb to the sting and relaxes into the percussion. The rhythm is meditative, the silence deafening except for the sound of leather hitting skin, and Kris feels almost like he’s in a trance. It’s… nice.

 _WHAP_. Kris jumps, startled by the much sharper stroke. There’s no more blows after that, no soothing hand, and the sting radiates from his skin. Footsteps move away, leaving him to hang there and hurt for a moment.

“Still doing alright?” Mr. Park asks.

“I’m fine,” Kris mutters, more sharply than he means it. It’s just that he wasn’t expecting the harder hit, and he doesn’t like surprises.

“I’m fine, _sir_ ,” Mr. Park corrects. Kris purses his lips petulantly, wondering if he’s allowed to ask Mr. Park to go back to the rhythmic beat and keep doing just that, and doesn’t answer.

A sharp, stinging pain hits him right across the roundest part of his ass, making him yelp.

“Say it,” Mr. Park admonishes.

“I’m fine, _sir_.” Kris corrects himself. He’s rewarded with the slide of a broad palm over the seat of his trousers, kneading the pain out of his stung buttocks. It feels _good_. Kris bites his lip and stops himself from pushing his hips back into the touch, all too aware that Kyungsoo is silently watching, that Mr. Park specifically told him there would be nothing sexual tonight.

“Hmm. Well, you haven’t tried to punch me yet, so I’m guessing you can probably take more,” Mr. Park purrs. “Let’s find out.”

There’s a bare, aiming touch of the tool - one of the canes, maybe, or the riding crop? - against his ass. It’s enough warning for Kris to tense his muscles against the swing, and though he’s pretty sure Mr. Park hit him even harder this time, it doesn’t sting quite so badly.

This time, Mr. Park’s grip is hard on his ass, strong fingers digging in deep. “You’re cheating, Yifan,” he admonishes. “The point is to feel it. Relax.”

Kris does not relax. Kris huffs and twists to glance back over his shoulder, taking in Mr. Park’s unamused expression. Mr. Park flashes him an eyebrow and holds his gaze when he swings again, a sharp sting that hits a little lower this time, dangerously close to the tops of Kris’s thighs. Kris would have preferred to show no reaction but it startles him and it _hurts_ and he jumps and gasps.

Mr. Park doesn’t knead out the sting this time, letting it reverberate as he moves out of Kris’s line of sight. Kris turns his head back to the head rest and huffs, shoulders tensing up the longer it takes for Mr. Park to come back.

Eventually, Mr. Park comes back into his line of sight, leaning around Kris’s shoulder and gently turning his face towards him with a leather-clad finger on his chin. “Yifan,” Mr. Park says, “I’m really not going to hurt you. You don’t trust me yet, and I understand that, but you need to relax.” He brings his other hand up, and Kris sees his arm moving, but he’s not expecting the impossibly soft touch of the rabbit fur on his back, smoothing over the still-burning skin of his shoulders. Now _that_ feels _amazing_ and Kris moans unconsciously, arching into the sensation. Mr. Park smiles at him, watching his face as he sweeps the fur in long, slow strokes over Kris’s back, up his neck, down the outsides of his arms, down his sides.

Mr. Park steps behind Kris. The hand not holding the fur drags down his back, leather catching and tugging on the skin, while he reaches around and sweeps the fur delicately across Kris’s collarbones, up his throat. Kris is helpless against the moan that escapes this time, arching his back and lifting his chest, head tilted back to give Mr. Park access.

“That’s better,” Mr. Park purrs, low and dark in Kris’s ear. His breath on Kris’s skin sends a shudder down his spine. “Keep that openness. I’m going to use the crop again, alright? Stay relaxed, I’ve got you.”

His heat moves away, but somehow he keeps the fur moving on Kris’s skin as he reaches for the table. It’s just a moment before Kris feels the leather tongue of the riding crop trail across his shoulders, not a hit, but a caress. It leaves a trail of lit-up nerves behind it that takes a moment to fade.

Motion stops right over the biggest muscle in his shoulder, and Kris takes a deep breath, willing himself not to tense. The snap of the riding crop is much more intense than the flogger, a sharp, focused pain in one tiny spot. Kris jumps and cries out.

Immediately, the rabbit fur slides over the spot, and his raw nerves feel every individual hair acutely. It’s _heaven_ , and Kris moans deeply.

“Better?” Mr. Park asks. Kris doesn’t trust his voice, so he just nods. “Do you want the other side?”

“Please,” Kris whispers.

Solid, heavy warmth against his back as Mr. Park leans in very close. “Please, what?”

The depth of his voice slides down Kris’s spine and tugs on something deep in his gut, and Kris is vaguely aware that he’s beginning to swell in his trousers. “Please, Mr. Park,” he murmurs.

“Mmm.” Mr. Park moves back away, the tongue of the crop tracing idle, formless patterns on Kris’s skin. “Someday you will beg me to beat you in clear specifics, naming off exactly where you want me to hit you, and how hard, and with what.” It’s both shaming and evocative, and Kris finds it easier to imagine than he might have thought. “But for now, I will accept just _please_.”

He stops, over the muscle in the other shoulder, and Kris bites down on his own lip right before the hit connects. It keeps him from yelping, but not from jumping like he’s been stung. He arches, stretching his shoulder out in anticipation of the fur.

He doesn’t get the fur. Instead he gets hot, soft lips pressing a closed-mouth, chaste kiss right to the stung spot. Kris’s moan is embarrassingly high-pitched and choked, his cock jerking and filling further. Somehow, Mr. Park’s mouth feels _wrong_ , taboo, even if it’s barely more than kissing a boo-boo to make it feel better.

And it _does_ make it feel better. Kris can’t even remember the sting with the lingering feeling of Mr. Park’s lips on his skin.

Mr. Park starts up a new pattern. The tongue of the crop drags nonsense patterns against the skin of his back, trailing over untouched spots and sensitive, sore spots seemingly at random. Every once in a while it will pull back and strike in a new place, sharply stinging. Not every stung spot gets soothed, but many do, either with the rabbit fur, with the warmed leather glove, or, rarely, with Mr. Park’s mouth. The strikes have him buzzing, and the anticipation of what sort of touch might come after leaves him aching, yearning.

Then the crop falls away, and Mr. Park’s body heat falls away, and a footstep tells Kris that he’s moved back to the table where the gear is. “Breathe, Yifan,” Mr. Park murmurs, and oh, Kris hadn’t even realized he was holding his breath. He exhales, consciously relaxing muscles that had tensed up over time.

A tall column of grey flashes in Kris’s peripheral vision. Mr. Park smiles at him and holds up a glass of water with a straw. Gratefully, Kris drinks. He’s incredibly thirsty.

“How are you doing so far?” Mr. Park asks. “How do you feel?”

Letting the straw slide from his lips, Kris closes his eyes and takes stock. “I’m okay,” he murmurs. “I’m… good.”

Warm skin touches his sensitive back. Mr. Park has taken the gloves off? It feels nice, _so_ nice, and Kris hums and arches into the touch.

“You still haven’t tried to punch me,” Mr. Park says, sounding amused. “Does that mean you can take more?”

“I think so.” Mr. Park is still watching him, his dark eyes intent on Kris’s face, so Kris keeps talking, feeling like that’s what he’s supposed to be doing. “Some of it hurts, but not very badly, and it doesn’t last long.”

A nod. “Are you enjoying it?”

That’s the real question, isn’t it? “Yes,” Kris decides. “I’m enjoying it.”

Mr. Park smiles, small but very real, the kind of smile that crinkles up his eyes. He’s _extraordinarily_ handsome, and Kris feels oddly proud to be the cause of that little smile.

“Good.” The hand on his back slides up his shoulders to his neck, fingers carding through the short hairs at his nape very briefly before dropping away, leaving Kris shuddering. “How old are you, Yifan?”

Kris blinks. “Almost thirty.” What does that have to do with anything?

A surprised hum. “Older than you look. Alright, thirty it is.” Footsteps move over to the table, and Kris turns his head back to the headrest, shifting his weight a little. How long has he been tied to the cross? It doesn’t feel like it’s been very long, but his thighs are starting to ache a little from being spread.

It’s a measure of how much trust he already has placed in Mr. Park that it isn’t until he hears something being lifted off the table that he thinks to ask, “Thirty what?”

“Lashes.” 

Oh. Obviously. “You sound like a pirate.”

A chuckle, deep and resonating. “Arr, matey.”

Startled, Kris laughs. He hears another snort of laughter from behind him, familiar, not deep enough to be Mr. Park. Kyungsoo. Kris had almost forgotten he was there.

He has a few moments to feel self-conscious before the touch of cool leather to his skin wipes away any other thought in his head besides _oh god_. It feels like a flogger, the same kind as before, but heavier and stiffer, the tails draping further down his back as Mr. Park drags it over his shoulders.

“This one is elk leather,” Mr. Park murmurs in his ear. “Medium weight. Has a good snap to it. Count the lashes out loud, so Kyungsoo can hear you.” He pulls back, and Kris braces himself.

 _SMACK_.

He jumps and cries out softly, arching his back in a wordless plea for soothing. There’s no kiss, no touch, no stroke of soft fur to take away the sting. And Mr. Park wasn’t kidding about the snap - Kris had no idea the type of leather could make such a difference in what he felt.

“Yifan.” Mr. Park sounds annoyed. “I don’t hear you counting.”

What? Oh, right. “One,” Kris says quickly.

“Louder, please.”

Licking his suddenly dry-again lips, Kris says it louder. “One.”

“Good boy.” This time, Kris can hear the slightest sound of leather cutting through air just before he is struck on his other shoulder. He remembers to count, but it comes out on top of his gasp, sounding suggestive even to his own ears.

“Two.”

“Good.”

Three and four are similarly spaced, similarly stingy. But Mr. Park does something different with five, something that turns the sting into a deep thud like Kris has been punched in the back. Shocked, his breath stolen, his hands jerk instinctively against the cuffs, and his count comes out a breathy groan.

Six, seven, eight and nine come fast on each other’s heels, sharp, quick strokes that seem to light up his entire back. Ten is a hard snap right across his ass, so unexpected and painful that the number dissolves into a loud “Ah!,” his back arching and his head thrown back and his cock throbbing for reasons he can’t even comprehend.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Mr. Park asks, amused.

Kris starts giggling. He’s not even sure why. “T-ten,” he manages to gasp, his head lolling against his outstretched arm. “Sorry, Mr. Park, I don’t know why I’m,” he has to stop and swallow another chuckle, “laughing.”

A low hum. Mr. Park sounds pleased, which makes Kris a little bit glowy inside. “Endorphin rush. Perfectly normal, don’t worry. You’re doing very well, Yifan.”

Kris is glad to hear it, but he kind of wishes Mr. Park would touch him. His back is on fire, and all he wants is to feel warm kisses soothing it.

 _WHAP_. Kris _yells_ this time, jerking violently, the unexpected attack finally triggering his instinct to _hit_ something. The cuffs around his wrists keep him snugly in place, and his fist beats the wooden cross once in frustration. “Ow!”

“You should thank me when I praise you,” Mr. Park chides. “Say ‘thank you, Mr. Park.’”

Oh god _damn_. “Thank you, Mr. Park,” Kris grits out.

“And your count?”

Kris kind of wants to punch him, his ears reddening embarrassedly. What number were they even on? “Eleven.”

“Hmm. We’ll make a good sub out of you yet.” A swift, light caress to the back of his neck has Kris shuddering and arching, only just able to stop himself from begging that the touch go lower over his sore skin. The leather gloves are back on, and Kris misses the feeling of skin on skin.

Then the hand falls away, and Kris closes his eyes, waiting for the blow.

Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. It’s rhythmic, deeper and harder than the rhythm of the previous flogger, but it has the same mind-numbing effect. Kris keeps count, not even listening to his own voice anymore. Nothing exists except sensation.

Sixteen and seventeen are low, very low, snapping across the muscular outsides of each thigh and making his legs twitch violently. Kris barely has a chance to moan out his count before nineteen and twenty hit him rapidly on each shoulder, stray tails stinging his upper arms. His numbers come out garbled with each other, lost in shocked gasps, and possibly no longer in Korean.

Kris had entertained the vague notion that Mr. Park would pause after lash twenty the way he’d paused after lash ten, but he doesn’t. He keeps right on going, picking up both the pace and the power, and Kris struggles to keep up, to keep count, to keep still, to keep from screaming. Time disappears, the world becoming a hazy blur.

There is a slight pause between lash twenty-nine and thirty, and Kris only has a moment to suck in a few heavy breaths before it comes down. Horizontal across both asscheeks, the hardest hit yet, making his entire body jerk as he mindlessly screams out the number. And then, in the next moment, there is warmth over his back, hands reaching over his head, a musky cologne in his nose he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget.

“It’s over,” Mr. Park says softly. “It’s over, you did it. You did so well, Yifan, I’m so proud of you.” Kris’s hands are unhooked, and the moment he can move he curls in on himself, breathing harshly and wrapping his hands around his stinging shoulders. There are… tears? He’s crying? Yes, he is crying, silently, tears running down his face in gentle streams. When was the last time he cried?

Not since his parents died.

Hands push on his legs encourage him to step off the cross, and Kris hazily realizes his ankles have also been freed. Mr. Park guides him a step backwards and brings him down to the floor, letting him curl up, letting him bend all the joints that have been held ramrod straight for who knows how long. His body is warm and curved invitingly towards Kris, he quickly pulls off his gloves and lets them drop, and his broad hands splaying against Kris’s abused skin feels _so good_ that Kris starts to laugh again. It’s choked through his tears, but it’s laughter. He feels light, giddy, slightly confused but hardly caring.

It takes too long for Kris to realize Mr. Park is still murmuring to him soothingly. The realization helps him blink back into the world, to focus him. He finds himself staining Mr. Park’s classy suitcoat with tears, shockingly strong arms holding him close, rocking him slightly. There are… there’s more than two hands on him, and Kris lifts his head and meets Kyungsoo’s dark, concerned eyes.

“Hi,” he says, rather stupidly.

Kyungsoo’s smile is so, so beautiful. “Hi yourself,” he replies, sounding relieved.

“You want to take him for a moment?” Mr. Park asks softly. Kris is confused, still hazy, but then he realizes the question is directed at Soo, who nods earnestly. There’s a little bit of shuffling, during which Kris feels a bit like a sack of potatoes, but his legs aren’t really working and he keeps shivering and twitching, so he lets himself be manhandled.

They end up sitting on the floor, Kyungsoo with his back resting against the wall and Kris curled up in his lap like he’s _not_ close to twice his boyfriend’s size. Kyungsoo holds him and strokes his hair, and Kris just breathes, relishing the contact, the familiar touch, as his giggles and his tears and his shakes all begin to calm.

He hears the door, and looks up to see Mr. Park re-entering the room, gently shutting the door behind him. There’s a little jar in one hand, and a water bottle in the other.

It’s a little odd to see a man in a full suit and tie sinking to his knees, but Mr. Park makes it look graceful and controlled. He gives the bottle to Kyungsoo, who holds it for Kris to drink, and opens the pot. Lotion, it looks like.

The cool touch of the lotion on his back makes him moan like a teenager who’s just discovered porn, and Kris can’t even bring himself to be self-conscious enough to care.

Mr. Park’s chuckle is deep, and as soothing as his hands. Ah, _fuck_ that feels good. “You did extremely well, Yifan,” Mr. Park says. “You took that beating so beautifully, you must be very strong.”

That shouldn’t make him glow with pride, but it does.

“Are you alright? Was anything too much?”

It’s a hard question to answer, especially with his brain all mushy like this, but Kris licks his still-dry lips and tries to get his mental gears moving again. “It was a lot,” he admits. “There were times I almost stopped you. But I’m glad I didn’t.” A dumb grin crawls over his features, without his permission. “I feel kind of high.”

An affirmative noise. Mr. Park’s body heat is already warming the cold lotion, and if he never stops touching Kris, _ever_ , Kris will be perfectly content. “That feeling in your mind, that place you go when I’m dominating you, we call that subspace. It’s a little different for everyone, but it should feel like a good place to be, a safe place to be, even if what I’m doing to your physical body doesn’t seem good or safe from the outside.” He reaches down and unbuckles the cuffs from Kris’s ankles, smoothing a little lotion over the area, even though the padding kept the leather from chafing. Normally, Kris is not too big on having his feet touched, but Mr. Park’s firm touch is soothing, not tickling, and he finds he doesn’t mind.

Mr. Park repeats the same treatment on Kris’s wrists, dragging the excess lotion up over his hands and fingers while he’s at it. Facing Mr. Park, watching him care for Kris in an outwardly subservient way and yet somehow managing to seem 100% in control of everything, Kris sighs and contentedly leans back against Kyungsoo’s shoulder.

“I’ll let Kyungsoo take you home,” Mr. Park says. “Make sure you get enough to drink, and you might want to eat something, too. Playtime can take it out of you, and your stomach has been rumbling at me since you came down.” He quirks a smile, and Kris smiles helplessly back. “I’d like to see you again in a day or two. Not for a session, just to talk about this experience after you’ve had a chance to process it. I’ll arrange it with Kyungsoo. Is that acceptable?” Kris and Kyungsoo both nod. “Perfect. Thank you for letting me dominate you, Yifan.”

There’s something backwards about that. “No, thank you,” Kris murmurs. “Thank you so much.”

A slightly wider smile. “You’re welcome.” He stands, and Kris feels his distance like a loss. “I’ll let you recover for a bit. I’ll be right through the door when you’re ready to leave.”

“Thank you.” Kyungsoo says it this time. Mr. Park nods and leaves the room, softly closing the door behind him.

 

~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~

 

It isn’t until the next morning, when Kris is humming happily to himself as he gets out of the shower, that he realizes he hasn’t given his job one solitary thought in the past twelve hours. Unsettled by this, but also rather delighted, he takes a moment to contemplate the idea as he shaves in the mirror.

Could he do this again? Be Mr. Park’s sub? Bare himself for a beating, or anything else that man could do to him, on purpose, trusting that it would be good?

It’s a big question, and he’s glad Mr. Park is giving him a few days to think. He felt a side of himself last night he hadn’t known existed, let alone exposed to a stranger.

But… it really did feel good. Not the flogging, really, but the release. Letting go.

And Mr. Park is sexy as sin. That helps.

As he meanders out into the bedroom, patting water and shaving cream from his face, he hears a soft buzz. It’s not his own phone, it’s Kyungsoo’s, sitting on the bedside table. Kyungsoo himself is in the kitchen starting the coffee machine, so Kris idly sweeps up the phone, intending to bring it out to his lover.

The text is from Mr. Park. Too curious not to look, Kris unlocks the phone.

_kyungsoo (6:15AM):_  
_I wanted you to know he slept like a baby. Thank you so much for last night._

_mr.park (6:23AM):_  
_My pleasure._

Kris can’t help but smile.

 

~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~

 

Debriefing is surprisingly casual. Kris and Kyungsoo meet Mr. Park early in the morning at a quiet, sophisticated little coffee shop and talk for a few minutes over lattes. The end conclusion is that Kris is going to become a regular customer.

“If we're going to do this,” Kyungsoo says, “I’d like to take you out to dinner, Mr. Park.”

Mr. Park glances at Kris, as if to gauge his reaction. Kris just smiles and nods - he and Soo already talked about this. “I won't say no to dinner,” Mr. Park says. “Any particular reason?”

“He’s planning to interrogate you,” Kris says dryly.

Kyungsoo smacks his arm as Mr. Park chuckles. “I just want to pick your brain about some of the specifics of… domination. I want to be prepared.”

Mr. Park’s gaze softens. “You two are good together,” he murmurs.

Love and pride swells in Kris’s chest, and he squeezes Kyungsoo against his side. “Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [come talk to me!](http://ask.fm/unnie_bee)


	2. Chapter 2

Kyungsoo has been telling Kris for months that he needs to hire a personal administrative assistant. That it’s ridiculous that he, as the CEO, wastes time fielding outside calls and scheduling his own meetings. “You need a gatekeeper,” Kyungsoo has told him. “Someone to control the demands on your time, so you can concentrate on running the business.”

It’s been a point of pride for Kris that he hasn’t needed a secretary. A way to show that he’s not too good to be deeply involved in the way the company runs. But when his sunny, relaxed, post-Mr.-Park mood has descended into tight, frustrated stormclouds _before noon_ , he finally admits to himself that Soo is, as always, right.

After hanging up on the third time-wasting cold sales call of the day, Kris calls up his HR department and asks them to find him an admin, ASAP. Yes, temp-to-hire is fine. No, it doesn’t _have_ to be a woman, what kind of a question is that?

Let it never be said that his HR manager isn’t good at what she does, because Kris has an admin waiting for him the next morning. His name is Joonmyun, he’s small, handsome, and neat as a pin, and Kris can tell within the first five minutes of speaking to him that they are going to get along just fine.

On Friday evening, when he receives an anticipated text from Kyungsoo, Kris sticks his head out of his office door. Joonmyun has been given a nice, large workspace right outside, where he can literally gatekeep, if necessary.

“I’ve had a family thing come up,” he says. “Is my schedule clear for tonight?”

Joonmyun looks, clicks, types. “It is now,” he says crisply.

Oh yeah. This was a _great_ decision. “Perfect. Have a good weekend.” Kris is out the door immediately.

 

~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~

 

“We’re really going to focus on sensation tonight,” Mr. Park says as he closes the cuffs around Kris’s wrists. “When I was first interviewing you, you seemed to be the most receptive to that, so we’ll spend a little time playing with ice and wax before we get into anything more… psychological.”

That must be why the room is lit only with a dozen candles of varying sizes and colors, and why there’s a plastic tarp spread out underneath the St. Andrew’s cross. “Alright,” Kris agrees.

He gets a sharp little tug on his cuff. “Say _thank you, Mr. Park_.”

Blushing, Kris swallows. “Thank you, Mr. Park.”

“Better. Stay put.” Mr. Park goes over to his sideboard. There’s an ice bucket, the kind used to chill wine, and only two toys set out on it this time - a matched pair of floggers. Mr. Park picks them up. “These are my favorite toys,” he explains, bringing them over to show Kris. “I used one on you last time. Genuine elk leather, heavy but soft. Here.” He hands one to Kris, who takes it. It’s beautifully made, and the tails feel lusciously pliable in his hands, not hard and stinging at all. “I’ll be using a two-handed technique on you tonight. It’s called the Florentine technique, and it’s my special talent.” He winks.

Kris looks up at him. “I trust you,” he blurts out, for reasons unknown even to him.

Mr. Park’s gaze softens. “I know,” he murmurs. “I will do my best never to break that trust.”

He takes the flogger back, and motions for Kris to stand. Kris stands, shirtless and barefoot and cuffed.

Which is, apparently, not enough. “When you’re working with wax, things can get messy,” Mr. Park says. “Take off your pants.”

Oh. Kris hesitates, glancing to the side, where Kyungsoo is sprawled in the armchair, silently watching. Before he can discern whether or not Soo would be upset by this, the black-and-purple handle of the flogger lays against his cheek and gently, but firmly, turns his face back towards Mr. Park’s.

“Yifan,” Mr. Park says quietly. “I am your Master. Not Kyungsoo.” He raises an eyebrow. “Do you trust me, or not?”

He does. More importantly, it reminds him that Mr. Park and Kyungsoo discuss every scene beforehand. Mr. Park wouldn’t ask him to do something Kyungsoo wasn’t okay with. Kris strips off his slacks, and folds them neatly over his arm, a habit. His work clothes are designer and expensive, after all.

Mr. Park takes the slacks from him. “And now the briefs, please.”

His eyes widening, Kris hesitates again. Mr. Park stares at him steadily, expectantly.

He trusts Mr. Park. He does. He _does_.

His breath coming unsteadily, Kris removes his last protection, and stands bare in front of two clothed men, naked except for the cuffs at his wrists and ankles. Mr. Park’s eyes slide down his body, slow and heavy as hands, before dragging back up to his face. His expression is unreadable, and Kris tries not to get anxious. He looks great naked, he knows that. He doesn’t need Mr. Park’s approval.

Okay, maybe he kind of does.

“Hmm.” Mr. Park gestures with one hand, indicating that Kris should turn around. Kris does as he’s told, turning in place, baring himself for scrutiny. It’s a good thing he’s not shy, because he hasn’t felt this exposed in his life. “Not much body hair. Good, that’ll make this easier.” A warm, leather-clad hand slides possessively down over Kris’s side, then down to his ass, giving him a little encouraging pat. “Get up on the cross, go on.”

Once he’s on the cross, facing the wall, Kris feels both less and more exposed. Less, because he’s facing the wall, because he can’t see Mr. Park’s expression and Mr. Park’s no longer looking right at his naked cock. More, because he’s being clipped down, spread out, and he can hear the elk floggers whistling through the air as Mr. Park spins them in his hands. He imagines getting struck across his bare ass and winces just at the thought.

“Relax,” Mr. Park purrs, stroking his back again. “You’re going to like this, I promise.”

He’s probably right, so Kris takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and tries to relax.

The first strike is across his shoulder, relatively soft. Kris jumps anyway, just out of reflex. Mr. Park swipes his hand over the spot, then hits the other side, then swipes his hand over that one, too.

“Twitchy,” he murmurs. “Let’s warm you up a little bit, then.”

It’s like the first night, with slow, evenly-spaced strikes, each one soothed with a touch. The elk leather is thick and heavy, and the strikes feel deep, rather than sharp. After a surprisingly short time, Kris stops jumping every time he’s hit, his breath evening out, his shoulders relaxing as his head falls against the headrest.

“Much better,” Mr. Park praises. “Let’s pick it up a little, shall we?”

The next two strikes land one right after the other, much too quickly to have both come from the same toy. He’s using a flogger in each hand, now. Kris hisses a little, arching; without the soothing touch of Mr. Park’s glove, the sting sticks around much longer.

The next two strikes land across the outsides of his thighs, right side then left side in quick succession, and Kris yelps. Mr. Park chuckles, and swipes him lightly across the ass with one flogger, more of a tease than a real hit.

The pace ramps up, after that. Mr. Park sets a steady beat with barely enough space to breathe between the strokes, an even _whap whap whap whap_ that has Kris squirming and whining under his breath. Each strike on its own is not much, but they’re close enough together to build up, until Kris’s back is a mass of sensitivity, his nerves feeling open and raw.

The strikes abruptly stop, and Mr. Park steps away. Kris is hoping for his hands, to soothe the pain - or the rabbit fur, that would be _wonderful_ \- but instead, shockingly cold wetness slithers a line down his back, and Kris _shrieks_.

The ice is pulled away. Kyungsoo is laughing, Kris can hear him, but Mr. Park is immediately in Kris’s line of sight, an ice cube cupped in his gloved hand and concern all over his face.

“Too much?” he asks sincerely.

Gasping, Kris considers the question. “No, I’m okay,” he finally says. “I was just surprised.”

A flash of a handsome, crooked smile. “Good.” Mr. Park disappears again, and the ice is pressed against his shoulder, right where most of the hits were concentrated, right where his skin is the most raw. It’s _so cold_ and it makes the heat of the rest of his abused skin seem to flare in contrast. Mr. Park holds it there for a few seconds, until the skin starts to go a little numb, then moves the cube in tiny circles, massaging it into Kris’s skin.

He does the same thing to another spot, low down on the opposite side, in the small of Kris’s back. That’s not a spot that gets struck, so his skin reacts completely differently, and Kris shivers violently as a chill races up his spine.

The ice cube is put away, and Mr. Park lays wet gloves against Kris’s shoulders and drags his hands down the length of Kris’s back. The cool water feels like _heaven_ , and Kris moans aloud, arching, his cock twitching.

Mr. Park’s hands keep going, all the way down, to cup his ass and squeeze. Kris abruptly flushes, feeling his face heat up as Mr. Park chuckles in his ear.

“I couldn’t resist,” he murmurs. His hands are kneading into Kris’s ass, strong and bold and possessive, somehow tantalizingly impersonal through the leather gloves. It sends bolts of heat through Kris’s stomach to be touched this way, especially by Mr. Park, and he instinctively arches into it, pushing his ass into Mr. Park’s hands, silently begging for more.

Humming his appreciation, Mr. Park lifts an asscheek in each hand, drags them up, and lets go. And Kris doesn’t have a lot of ass, he knows that, but he feels it literally _bounce_. He grimaces, but his cock twitches again, betraying his excitement at being treated like a plaything. Mr. Park can’t see that, right? He can’t tell that Kris is starting to get hard?

Would it matter, if he could?

Kris is still swirling the question in his head when Mr. Park strikes him again with the flogger, making him jump. Weirdly, the little spot on his shoulder where Mr. Park had held the ice cube is still numbed, and so there’s an odd hole in the sensation where Kris doesn’t feel the sting.

It’s fascinating, but it doesn’t last long. Mr. Park starts in immediately with the fastest beat yet, a constant _whapwhapwhapwhap_ that has Kris moaning in a loud, unbroken sigh. It’s a blanket of little pains that covers his entire back, no pause, no room to breathe, no space to feel the linger of the sting before a new one falls right on top of it. Kris’s hands clench tightly into fists, curling in on himself to expose more of his back, gasping uncontrollably. There’s no denying that he’s aroused by this now; his cock is getting harder by the second, rising unrestrained between his spread thighs.

It goes on for an eternity. Every moment brings Kris’s body temperature higher. Each round of strikes falls in a pattern, six strikes that land in six different places across his back, before starting again from the beginning. Like a weave, or a… a braid. A braid of pain. Mr. Park can braid pain.

The thought makes Kris giggle, half out of his mind. He hasn’t felt this high since his brief foray into hotboxing in university.

Mr. Park slows, his strikes trailing off, softer and further apart. Eventually, the last one trails down Kris’s back, and Kris sighs, going boneless against the cross. His skin is burning, his cock is raging, and his mind is gone, filled with clouds.

“Yifan,” Mr. Park says softly. His deep voice is very close, and Kris arches into it, as if the sound caresses his spine. “You still with us?”

Hmm. “Nope,” Kris murmurs.

He’s rewarded with a chuckle. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” A glass of water with a straw is brought to his lips. “Drink, my friend.”

Kris does as he’s told, too out of it to question. The water cools him off just a little.

“I’m going to unchain you,” Mr. Park says, “so you can rest for a bit, but don’t go far. You’re getting back on the cross in a moment.”

Obediently, Kris gets down, dropping into a crouch just to bend his tired knees and elbows for a bit. The very air feels sharp against his sensitive skin, and his cock presses hard and insistent against his curled stomach.

Small, familiar hands touch Kris’s shoulders, and he looks up into soft, round, dark eyes. “You’re a wreck,” Kyungsoo murmurs.

Kris grins at him. Kyungsoo smiles back, and kisses his forehead. The gentleness makes him whimper.

A big hand, no longer clad in leather, hands down a plain, unmarked white jar. “Here,” Mr. Park says.

Kyungsoo takes the jar and stands, moving around towards Kris's back. He hears the jar open, and Kyungsoo rubbing his hands together to warm the lotion, before it’s rubbed into his sore back in long, gentle strokes.

“Ohh, fuck,” Kris moans, curling in more to offer his back up to Kyungsoo. “That feels so good.”

“Mr. Park says this will make it easier to clean the wax off you later,” Kyungsoo tells him.

That wakes Kris up a little. Right. Wax. Mr. Park had said ice _and_ wax.

“Not to sound ignorant,” Kris murmurs, his words a little bit slurred still. “But won’t that burn?”

Warm fingers cup Kris’s chin and coax him to look up. Mr. Park kneels in front of him, a plain, white candle in a glass jar in his hand.

“Watch,” Mr. Park says. He tugs up the sleeve of his jacket, revealing just a few centimeters of bare, muscular forearm, a little sliver of skin that makes Kris bite back a moan. Seeing a man’s _forearm_ shouldn’t feel so dirty.

He tips the candle, dripping three little drops of white wax onto his sensitive inner wrist. The wax drips gently down his skin, stark white against pale against the deep grey of his suit. It hardens quickly, and after a few moments, Mr. Park picks a drip off with his nail. The skin underneath is reddened, but not burned, and Mr. Park hasn’t flinched or made a noise at all.

Kris nods. “Okay,” he murmurs.

A small smile, and a sweet caress of his face. Kris leans into it, in love with the way Mr. Park’s hand cups his cheek.

“Get back on the cross,” Mr. Park says. Kris obeys.

To his surprise, Kyungsoo is the one who clips Kris into place, this time. “Are you going to help?” Kris asks softly.

“Maybe,” Kyungsoo murmurs. “Maybe I just want to see your face this time.”

Kris leans over, wordlessly asking for a kiss. Kyungsoo gives it to him, nipping softly at his lips. When Kris pulls away, Kyungsoo leans against the cross, his hand on Kris’s neck but his eyes drifting over Kris’s shoulder.

It warns Kris of what’s coming, but it’s still a shock to feel burning hot wax land on the top of his shoulder and drip down his back. His skin lights up, fiery, but it’s surprising how fast it cools from _ouch_ to _ohhhhmygod_. The drip of the wax is slow and bearably warm by the time it reaches his flogged skin, and Kris sucks in a breath as the more sensitized nerves flare hotter and sharper.

A hand rests on his hip, and the candle comes into view, bathing Mr. Park and Kyungsoo in warm, dancing light as Mr. Park leans around him. “Doing okay?” he asks.

Oh _yes_. “Do it again,” Kris begs. He gets an eyebrow, and hastily adds, “Please, sir, _please_ do it again.”

“Hmm. You’re having much more trouble with proper address than most of my subs,” Mr. Park observes as he disappears behind Kris’s back again. The shifting angle of the shadows on Kyungsoo’s face tells Kris that the candle is over his other shoulder now; he tilts his head, inviting the burn of the wax.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Kris says. Wax lands on his shoulder, pooling, dripping, burning, and he gasps, his eyes rolling back as a shot of frantic adrenaline courses through his veins. His body thinks he’s on fire, but it only lasts a bare second, then it’s just warm, a heat so deep he can feel it in his bones. “Ahhh, shit, that’s _amazing_.”

Mr. Park chuckles. “Good, because I’m planning on _covering_ you.” The next drip pours from the base of his neck right down his spine, and Kris lets out a choked, gasping, sobbing cry, utterly and undeniably sexual. His limbs are literally _quivering_.

Warmth of a different kind presses in smooth patterns across his back. The glass of the candleholder? Yes, it must be, dancing over his skin quickly enough that there’s no chance of burning. The surety of Mr. Park’s touch makes Kris relax, his head resting against his arm, so he can watch Kyungsoo watching Mr. Park.

Kyungsoo’s eyes flick to his. “It doesn’t hurt?” he asks curiously.

“It burns,” Kris tells him, “for a split second. But it cools so fast.” The wax from the first drip is already hardening, pulling his skin tight, the warmth fading. “It’s mostly just so, so warm.”

“How about here?” Mr. Park asks, before dripping right onto the sorest, most beaten part of Kris’s shoulder.

Hissing, Kris curls in on himself. “Okay, _that_ hurt.” His heart is pounding.

“Still?”

“No.” It’s cooled enough, already. “I mean, no, sir.”

A soft kiss is pressed to his shoulder. “Better, Yifan. You’re getting better.” He drips onto the opposite side, but Kris is more prepared for the pain, and he closes his eyes and lets himself feel it. “Oh, very good. _Very_ good.”

He can’t help his excited smile at the praise. Kyungsoo looks amused. “I love it when you smile like that,” he murmurs, and Kris leans over for another kiss.

Mr. Park hands Kyungsoo the candle in his hand, and picks up another one from the table behind him. Kris looks over his shoulder - it’s pale blue this time, not white. Mr. Park swirls the candle a little in his hand, stirring up the pool of liquid wax in the glass candleholder, and then tests it on his own wrist, just a drop.

Kris half-expects Mr. Park to command that he face forward, but he doesn’t. Instead, he holds Kris’s gaze, his eyebrow raised, as he tips the candle and pours all the wax in a long, even stripe across the top of Kris’s shoulders, all the way from right to left.

“Fuck,” Kris spits, arching and _burning_. But just as before, the burn fades fast, and now he has deep heat dripping all down his shoulders. He moans, rolling his shoulders, feeling cooler white wax crack and re-melt as the blue heats it again.

Mr. Park is chuckling. Kris tries to glare at him, but he’s pretty sure it’s about as powerful as a toddler’s glare. He knows his arousal has to be all over his face - he’s _panting_ for fuck’s sake.

“Do you want to try this, Kyungsoo?” Mr. Park asks, and Kris’s breath stops.

Kyungsoo looks over Kris’s shoulder. “Try which?”

“Whichever you want, but I was thinking this part.” He wiggles the candle a little.

Stepping around Kris, Kyungsoo takes the candle from Mr. Park. Kris faces forward, taking a deep breath. He trusts Kyungsoo, of course he does, but Soo is new at this, he doesn’t have Mr. Park’s experience.

“Test it on yourself first, like I did,” Mr. Park is murmuring. “Always test it. Just a drop.” Kyungsoo sucks in a startled, pained breath. “Yes, like that. You need to know what it feels like yourself before you ever do it to anyone else, okay?”

“Wow, that’s hot. You actually _like_ this, Kr - Yifan?” Shit, Kyungsoo nearly slipped - and shit, hearing him call him Yifan like that is sexier than it should be.

“As it turns out,” Kris murmurs, “I appear to be a bit of a painslut.”

Kyungsoo bursts out laughing, and he hears Mr. Park chuckle as well. “I don’t know if I’d go that far,” he says. “I’ve known people who could take… well. A lot more than this.” Warm hands stroke up his arms. “We’ll work up to it.”

The promise makes Kris shiver.

He listens to Mr. Park instructing Kyungsoo in a low voice - how far away to hold the candle, how much to drip, where the wax should hit - and somehow is still surprised when wax is dripped onto both of his shoulders at once. He jumps, then curls in, taking a deep breath.

“Is that okay?” Kyungsoo asks.

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s perfect, Soo,” Kris assures him.

Mr. Park pats Kris’s shoulder. “Keep going,” he tells Kyungsoo, as he steps away.

“Hey, can I…?” Kris doesn’t see what gesture Kyungsoo is making, but Mr. Park tells him to go ahead. He finds out a second later, when a line of scalding hot wax is poured over his bicep.

“Ahhhhhh _fuck_ ,” he breathes. His arm twitches, fingers clenching reflexively. White, molten wax drips down both sides of his arm, dripping off the bottom and falling to the tarp below.

Kyungsoo touches him gingerly. “Still okay?”

Kris laughs. “I have safewords, Soo,” he reminds him. “And if I’m in actual pain, you’re going to know it.”

Reassured, Kyungsoo goes back to work. For whatever reason, it doesn’t feel as hot when Kyungsoo does it, perhaps because his technique is somehow different. Kris relaxes a little, drifting into the sensation.

Mr. Park appears in front of him, his handsome face lit by the glow of the candle in his hand. Red wax, this time. The pool of melted wax by the wick looks a little like blood.

“You awake?” he asks softly.

“Mmhm.” Kris rolls his head against his arm, looking around the crossbar at Mr. Park’s face. “It feels good, Mr. Park.”

It wins him a smile. “Good,” Mr. Park says. “Let’s try something else.”

He reaches out and drips a line of wax haphazardly across Kris’s right pectoral, just under his collarbone. Swearing, Kris jerks, his body trying to twitch away and arch into it simultaneously. The burn feels worse, hotter, as if he’s more sensitive there, but then the warmth settles in, chasing away the pain, and Kris moans loudly, arching and lifting his chest, an instinctive reaction to not being able to soothe the sensation with his hands.

“Do you want more?” Mr. Park murmurs, his eyes black and wicked in the candlelight.

Wax drips across his lower back, trailing down over the swell of his ass. Kyungsoo. Kris shivers and arches more, feeling the wax on his back cracking as his spine curves. “Yes, please, Mr. Park,” he whispers.

Mr. Park slides in close, reaching out with his free hand to wrap it around Kris’s arched back, tugging him into an even more extreme arch, so that is chest is pulled away from the cross and lifted high. He passes the candle between Kris’s face and the cross, close enough that Kris can feel the heat, and pours. Wax crosses his chest, and from behind him, wax hits his left flank at the same time, dripping down the side of his thigh.

“Oh, oh,” Kris murmurs, “fuck. Fuck.” His arms twist against the shackles, his legs are shaking, and his cock, fuck, he can’t remember the last time he was this hard.

“Mmmmm.” Kris opens his eyes, breathlessly, and finds Mr. Park practically devouring him with his gaze, his tongue flicking out to wet his lower lip.

Shit. “Stop… stop looking at me like that,” Kris protests, weakly.

An amused glance. “Like what?”

“Like you’re going to _eat_ me.”

Kris had forgotten Mr. Park’s arm was around his back until it tightens. The only thing keeping him from being dragged against Mr. Park’s chest like a damsel on the cover of a romance novel is the wooden cross between their bodies. “Don’t worry,” Mr. Park purrs. “I won’t be eating you… tonight.”

Kris shudders. Mr. Park chuckles.

“I think that’s enough wax,” he says, glancing over Kris’s shoulder and nodding at Kyungsoo. “Let’s take him down.” He sets his candle down and reaches up to unclasp Kris’s wrist. Another set of hands goes to work on his other wrist.

“We’re done?” Kris asks. “That’s… that’s it?”

Mr. Park rubs at his forearm, which is all tingly now that it’s not held above his head, and gives him an eyebrow. “You’ve been on the cross for an hour,” he points out. “You really want more?”

It’s been that long? Kris bites at his lip. “If you think we should stop, Mr. Park…”

A shrug. “I could keep going for hours. I just figured you would want to rest.” He eyes Kris speculatively. “If you seriously want more, I could flog some of that wax off you.”

Kris’s heart skips several beats. “Really?”

A snort. “Sure. Give you a head start on getting it all off. Not on the cross, though, you’ve been up there too long.” He caresses Kris’s face again, running his thumb over Kris’s cheek. “You’ve been so good tonight, I’ll let you decide the position. Do you want to lie down? Kneel? Lean on the wall?”

His legs _are_ kind of shaky. “I’ll kneel,” Kris decides. “Thank you, Mr. Park.”

Lips brush his forehead. Kris’s cock leaps, a whimper falling from his lips. “You’re learning, Yifan,” Mr. Park praises. “Alright, get comfortable. Stay on the tarp. Kyungsoo, you can hold him, if you want, but keep your hands out of the way.”

So Kyungsoo helps him kneel, and kneels facing him, intertwining their hands. “I can’t believe you asked him for _more_ abuse,” he says, amused.

Kris shakes his head. “Not abuse,” he murmurs. “It really does feel good.”

He gets an eyebrow. “If you say so,” Kyungsoo says.

After being stretched out, _spread_ out, for an hour, it feels nice to curl his arms and legs under himself and curve his spine. Kris is tired, he’s going to sleep like a rock tonight, and tomorrow is the weekend. Heaven.

“Keep his head down, Soo,” Mr. Park says, and leather whistles through the air.

The first strike is a hard one, much harder than any of the hits he took before, but it’s absorbed by the shell of wax over his skin. He feels a punch, like he’s been struck with an actual fist, and hears the sharp crackle of the wax shattering. The second strike sends shards of cooled wax flying across the room as Kris’s body jerks helplessly.

“Fuck,” Kyungsoo exclaims. He ducks his head, pressing his forehead to Kris’s, cupping Kris’s cheek in one hand.

“Please try to hold still,” Mr. Park says. It’s phrased like a suggestion but it sounds like a command, and Kris wraps his hands around Kyungsoo’s shoulders to steady himself.

Another strike lands, and Kris grits his teeth to keep from yelling or jumping. It doesn’t sting, because the wax is still protecting him, but he can _feel_ the force Mr. Park is using, and the wax pulls in strange, uncomfortable ways as it cracks. Still, there’s something satisfying about the feeling of it coming off - like an old scab, revealing new skin underneath.

Kyungsoo prods at the wax on Kris’s chest with his free hand. The movement of his chest as he reached forward made it crack, and it comes off in pieces in Kyungsoo’s hand. It distracts Kris, just momentarily, and he’s not at all prepared when the next strike lands partially on wax and partially on recently-bared skin.

“ _Ahh!_ ”

“Hang in there, Yifan,” Mr. Park encourages. “Halfway there.”

“I’ve got you,” Kyungsoo murmurs as the next strike lands and tears spring to Kris’s eyes. “Hang on to me, I’m here. I’m here.”

Shakily, Kris presses a kiss to Kyungsoo’s cheek, jerking as a strike high on his shoulder snaps off thick layers of wax. A matching one hits the other shoulder a second later, and Kris can’t help his moan, half pain and half need. Need for what, he’s not exactly sure, because even though he’s hard he’s not sure he could handle anything sexual at the moment - he’s too overstimulated as it is.

“Hmm,” Mr. Park says, pausing long enough for Kris to suck in a shaky breath. “Three more, I think.” Kris hears him winding up, and closes his eyes.

This time, Mr. Park counts. “Three.” The strike snaps across his arm, making Kyungsoo jump in startlement, wax bouncing off Kris’s cheek.

“Two.” The last big chunk of wax on Kris’s right shoulderblade comes off, leaving him feeling mostly bare.

“One.” Right across the swell of Kris’s ass. Kris cries out, and wax bits rain onto Kris’s feet.

Kyungsoo immediately drags Kris close, wrapping his arms around Kris’s back. Shaking, crying, Kris buries himself in Kyungsoo’s arms. His back is _way_ oversensitive, and Kyungsoo’s hands feel cool and soft and soothing.

For a long minute, Kris just clings and trembles. He can hear Mr. Park moving around the room, but he’s too out of it to try to discern what he’s doing.

After a moment, warmth envelops his back. Hands stroke down his arms, comforting, and reach down to unbuckle the cuffs.

“If I didn’t know any better,” Mr. Park says, “I’d think you just wanted me to make you cry.”

Kris laughs, helpless and soggy. “Maybe,” he admits. “I don’t cry enough.”

“Hmm. Then I’m glad to be of service.” Dextrous fingers pick at his back, brushing away some stubborn bits of wax. “A hot shower will take care of the rest of this. Do you want to do that before you leave? There’s a full bath here.”

Too mentally, physically and emotionally exhausted to function, Kris shrugs and doesn’t answer. Kyungsoo makes the decision for him. “I’ll wash him off here,” he says. “The suit he’s wearing today is Armani, let’s not get candle wax on it.”

A chuckle. “Fair enough. Whenever you’re ready.”

Kris reaches behind himself and tugs Mr. Park’s arm around his middle. “Please stay,” he whispers. “For a minute. Just for a minute.”

Mr. Park hesitates, but then relaxes, covering Kris’s back like a blanket and resting his chin on Kris’s shoulder. His arm around Kris’s stomach is strong and supportive.

“Alright, Yifan,” Mr. Park murmurs. “Whatever you want.”

 

~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~

 

After they go home that night, Kyungsoo asks Kris to tell him about how it feels to be whipped. Half-asleep, Kris curls up and does his best to answer, describing the sting and the thud, the anticipation of the strike and the release of adrenaline and hormones when it hits, the sensitivity of his nerves afterwards and how it magnifies every touch, the way his mind is completely cleared of anything else.

He tries to make Kyungsoo understand why he likes it, but he’s honestly so floaty that he’s not even certain he’s making sense.

Kyungsoo hums thoughtfully and strokes his hair until he passes out, exhausted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [come talk to me!](http://ask.fm/unnie_bee)


	3. Chapter 3

A Wednesday afternoon a few weeks later sees Kris actually considering going home at a reasonable hour. His email is clear, his inbox is finally down to a manageable height, there are no emergencies for him to deal with, and it's not even five yet. Kyungsoo won’t be home for a couple of hours, since he’s at an offsite event with his company, and Kris hopes he might have the chance to relax alone at home for a bit.

He's standing, one arm already in his suit jacket, when the door to his office bursts open.

"You can't just -"

"Buzz off," the Director of Art snaps at a very flustered and annoyed Joonmyun. "Kris, I have a bone to pick with you."

It's so uncharacteristically combative, so _angry_ , that Kris is immediately on his guard. He finishes pulling his jacket on and settles it around his shoulders, drawing himself up authoritatively. "Please make an appointment with my admin," he says, mostly because Joonmyun looks so upset about being circumvented.

"Like hell I will! You're going to listen to me _now_."

Kris is pretty sure he's going to _fire_ the man now, because this is absolutely unacceptable behavior. Still, he's extremely upset, and after all the years the man served Kris's parents, he owes it to him to listen.

"Very well," he says calmly. "Please have a seat." He's tucked himself behind a mask of professionalism, breathing through his annoyance. His day was going _so_ well, too.

The Director does not sit. Joonmyun moves towards the door, but Kris stops him with a gesture, motioning for him to stay. He suspects he may need witnesses to this.

"I served under your father for over a decade," the Director tells him, as if Kris doesn't know that. "In all that time, I have _never_ been treated so disrespectfully as I am now."

Kris blinks. That wasn't what he was expecting. "How do you mean?"

"I _mean_ that you haven't approved a single one of my designs in three months! Not a single one!" The man's tone is venomous, the way only a battered pride can bring. "Every single design is returned with drastic alterations or outright rejected. You can't limit an artist this way! It's abuse! It's -"

Holding up a finger to silence him, Kris regards the Director squarely. "First of all, never, ever speak to me in that tone again," he says coldly. "Secondly, do not throw around the word _abuse_ to describe someone not agreeing with your ideas. Thirdly, your statement isn't even a little bit true. I approve at least two out of every three designs without major changes. I know, because I've been keeping track." Actually Joonmyun had been keeping track, but Kris had asked him to, so it’s the same thing, really.

Reaching behind himself, Kris picks up a file folder marked _approved_ and pulled out a design at random. Classy, with just enough daring. He'd liked it immediately. "What about this one?" he asks. "Or any of the other designs I've approved?"

The Director glances at it and sneers. "Rubbish. No vision whatsoever."

Kris narrows his eyes, a sinkhole opening deep in his gut. "This has your name on it," he points out, his tone lowering dangerously.

"Pah. They all have my name on them, I'm the Director. I didn't have anything to do with that garbage."

Ah. That tells him everything he needs to know. Hiding the shake in his hands as fury bubbles up inside, Kris tucks the drawing away. "Let me see if I'm understanding you clearly," he murmurs. "You take credit for all of the designs that come through your department, whether or not you had any hand in their creation."

"Of course. It's my department."

Kris feels like a complete idiot, for never putting that together before. He'd assumed - erroneously, it seemed - that the Director was looking at, editing, and approving every sketch before it hit Kris's desk. After all, _that was his goddamn job_. "And you are telling me that I have rejected every sketch that you, personally, have designed and submitted?"

"Yes, and it's _bullshit!_ I'm the _Director!_ "

"Not anymore," Kris says crisply. "You're fired."

The man's jaw drops. Behind him, Joonmyun's eyes go wide.

"You can't do that! I've been here for ten years!"

"And you're leaving here tonight. Right now, as a matter of fact. Someone will send you the contents of your desk by the end of the week." The former Director looks completely confused, as if he hadn't seen this coming at all, and Kris wonders if his mother or father ever felt like this. "You literally just told me that you have not produced one single design that fits with our company's vision in three months," Kris explains tightly. "Had you come to me concerned about the disconnect between us and willing to meet in the middle, it might not have come to this. But you marched in here unannounced, disregarding my admin and disrespecting my time, and demanded to know why I am not capitulating to _your_ vision." He crosses his arms. "Clearly, this position is no longer the right fit for you. I will escort you off the property myself."

And then, despite the man's protests, that's exactly what he does.

Kris returns, after making sure the man drives away and doesn't lurk angrily in the parking lot, to find Joonmyun already back at his desk. "I've disabled his accounts and deactivated his company credit card," he says.

"Good work," Kris says. "I'm sorry he treated you like that."

Joonmyun flashes him a smile. "Frankly, sir, I'm just glad he's gone. He's a pompous dick."

It's meant to cheer Kris up, but it makes everything worse. How long was that man terrorizing Joonmyun, or the rest of the staff? Why didn't someone say something?

"Schedule a meeting with the design department for first thing tomorrow morning," Kris says, "and write an account of what just happened to send to HR. I'll send my own tomorrow, after I calm down." He ducks into his office for just long enough to grab his briefcase. "I need to get out of here."

Joonmyun nods, agreeing with his assessment. "I've got it covered. Good night, sir."

Kris only nods his acknowledgement as he strides away, not trusting his voice.

 

~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~

 

Kris stands in front of the door with his hand hovering over the doorbell and wonders what the heck he thinks he’s doing.

He’s been Mr. Park’s sub for a few weeks now, but this is a first. He’s never come to Mr. Park’s playroom without Kyungsoo before, and he’s _certainly_ never shown up uninvited, unannounced. There’s no way to know if Mr. Park is even home. But Kris has never gotten Mr. Park’s cell phone number, and Soo’s at that event all evening and may not see his text, and Kris can’t wait. That was _terrible_. He’s jittery, he’s frustrated, he’s ready to punch something, and he desperately needs all of this beaten out of him.

Before he thinks about it too much, he rings the doorbell.

There’s silence for a long time, and Kris is just about to give up and head home when he finally hears movement on the other side. A moment later the door opens, and the sight of Mr. Park’s familiarly handsome face compressed in concern pulls an embarrassingly tiny noise from Kris’s throat.

“Yifan,” Mr. Park says. “We didn’t have an appointment today.”

“I know,” Kris says. “I’m sorry, sir, I just…” His fist is clenched at his side; he makes an effort to relax it. Mr. Park’s eyes drop down to follow the motion, his eyebrows raising.

“Do you need me?” he asks gently.

Kris nods rather pathetically. “Yes. Please.”

Mr. Park’s sigh is embarrassingly long-suffering, but he steps aside, gestures Kris in. Kris tries not to be too obviously relieved about it.

“Sit,” Mr. Park murmurs. “I will be right back.” He disappears into the playroom, shuts the door behind him.

Kris sits, as instructed, and takes a deep breath. Honestly, just being here is helping him to calm down; the comfortable, familiar surroundings, the slightly spicy scent of the incense Mr. Park uses and the deep, rich colors all help to pull his mind away from upset and rage. He texts Kyungsoo again - _I’m here, he’s home. I might not be answering my phone for a bit. Come over when you’re done?_

He’s just putting his phone back in his pocket when Mr. Park comes back, pulling the door closed but not latched behind him. Kris realizes that he’s wearing slim, dark jeans and a heavy cable-knit grey sweater, a classy white and grey pinstriped shirt peeking out at the collar and cuffs. It’s the most casual Kris has ever seen him dress and for some weird reason that fact makes his heart race.

“Yifan,” Mr. Park says as he takes a seat, “does Kyungsoo know you are here?” 

Kris shakes his head. “I texted him, but he’s at a work thing,” he murmurs. “He did tell me I could come see you by myself if I wanted to. We talked about it a few weeks ago.”

A nod. “Alright then. I was not expecting you, so I am entertaining a guest at the moment. Another sub. He has agreed to allow you to stay during his play session, if you are okay with that.”

Oh. Kris’s eyes go wide - he’s never even considered the fact that Mr. Park has _other_ subs. He feels like an idiot for showing up unannounced now.

Also, he might be mildly jealous.

Which is _really fucking dumb_.

“Yes, that’s fine,” Kris says, mostly because he knows his other choice is to leave, and after what just happened, the worst thing in the world right now would be having to leave this sanctuary untouched. 

Mr. Park nods again. “Alright, then.” He turns slightly, looking over his shoulder at the door. “Baek, here boy!”

The rising tone of his voice - coaxing, cheerful, _loud_ \- is so intensely different from any way he’s ever spoken to Kris before, and Kris stares at him in shocked confusion.

Then the door to the playroom opens, and a young man emerges on all fours. He’s wearing a leather mask over his face that’s shaped like a dog’s muzzle, covering his nose and mouth completely; fluffy, fuzzy dog ears are clipped into his ginger-dyed hair, and his hands are wrapped in padded leather mitts. He somehow manages to bound into the room, actually _bound_ , on all fours, just like a dog.

Kris bites his lip to keep an expletive from escaping. He’s pretty sure that would be rude.

The man goes right to Mr. Park’s side and rises up on his knees, bracing both of his ‘paws’ on Mr. Park’s thigh. Kris can see now that he’s wearing similar ‘paws’ on his feet, a black leather collar graces his slim neck and a similar harness encircles his bare chest, and the only other thing he has on is a tiny, skintight pair of black latex briefs from which protrudes a long, fluffy tail.

Mr. Park puts a big hand between the young man’s fluffy fake ears and rubs. The smile that spreads over his face is open, genuine, wide, _gorgeous_ , and so _completely unlike_ the Mr. Park that Kris knows that it takes his breath away.

“Good boy,” Mr. Park coos, and the man wiggles happily, making his tail swish behind him. Kris’s eyes are drawn down a slim, lean body to full hips, thick thighs and a round, squishy-looking ass. Damn. Okay, he’s starting to see the appeal. “This is Yifan,” Mr. Park says, his tone still light and playful, exactly as if he was speaking to a real dog. “He’s going to be playing with us today. Go say hi.” The muzzle turns to look at Kris, head tilted so the ears flop adorably. Kris’s mouth twitches of its own accord. 

Then the man-puppy turns back to Mr. Park and actually whines.

“Don’t be afraid, he’s a nice man. Go on.” Mr. Park gives the young man a little push in Kris’s direction. “This is Baek,” Mr. Park says as the man crosses the carpet on his hands and knees. 

Baek sits back on his haunches and regards Kris curiously. Up close, Kris can see that his eyes are fitted with stunning icey-blue circle lenses and rimmed in dark, thick eyeliner. The eyeholes are large enough that he can see the ridge of a high cheekbone, the beginning of an aristocratic nose. He wonders what Baek looks like without the mask. He’s probably beautiful.

Kris looks up at Mr. Park for help and gets a soft smile, more familiar than the wide, cheerful one he’s never seen before today. “Just act as if he was a puppy,” Mr. Park murmurs.

And Kris has never actually liked dogs all that much - he’s more of a cat person, honestly - but Baek is both less slobbery and less shed-y than a real dog so it’s probably fine. “Hello, Baek,” Kris says, holding out a hand the way he’s seen people do with dogs. Baek comes closer, pauses to poke at Kris’s hand with his muzzle as if he’s sniffing. Tentatively, Kris reaches up and runs a hand over Baek’s hair and ‘ears’. The fake ears are very well-crafted, made of very soft, fluffy fur, not the cheap craft-store stuff. 

Baek whines and jumps forward, landing half in Kris’s lap. He’s warm and heavy, but his butt is wiggling again to make his tail wag, and his eyes are smiling at Kris. Kris can’t help but smile back, some of his tension melting from his shoulders. “You’re a pretty pup,” he murmurs, running a hand over Baek’s shoulderblades. The man shifts in a way Kris knows well, begging to be touched, and in a stroke of genius Kris slides his fingers under the straps of the harness and scratches lightly at the skin there. Baek makes a happy noise, his butt wagging harder, and Kris looks up to see Mr. Park smiling at them fondly.

Dark eyes meet his own. “Shall we, then?” Mr. Park invites. Kris nods, and they stand, headed for the playroom.

The room is the same, except for one major difference - instead of implements laid out on the table, there’s a long leash coiled haphazardly. There’s also a huge, squishy dog bed in the corner, next to the armchair.

That’s where Mr. Park points. “Baek, lie down,” he commands, in a tone familiar enough that Kris nearly moves forward before he thinks about it. Mr. Park glances at him in amusement as Baek crawls over to the bed, circles it once and snuggles up. He’s _precious_ , despite all the naked skin and black leather.

“Yifan,” Mr. Park says. His tone has dropped, low and smooth and commanding, and Kris comes back to himself and starts stripping off his clothes before he is asked. He’s shirtless and sockless and has his hands on his belt before he realizes maybe this isn’t a good idea with an audience.

“Sir…?” he asks softly, his eyes flicking to the pup curled up in the corner and watching.

Mr. Park considers. “Just down to the briefs,” he decides, and Kris nods, relieved. He strips down as instructed, folding his clothes neatly and placing them on the corner of the table, then kneels as always in the center of the room.

“You seemed angry when you came to my door, Yifan,” Mr. Park says as he brings over Kris’s cuffs and gestures for Kris’s hand. Kris presents his wrists and sighs as the leather is closed around them. It’s a little weird, seeing Mr. Park standing above him in casual jeans and a cuddly sweater, but he’s still so handsome, and his expression is familiar. “Do you need more tonight than usual?”

Thinking back on the series of events that brought him storming to Mr. Park’s doorstep in the first place, Kris murmurs, “Yes, please, Mr. Park.” Mr. Park nods, steps forward, digs his hand into Kris’s hair and yanks his head back.

Kris gasps, his body going rigid then just as quickly relaxing. It effectively sends him careening down the road to subspace, all his attention on Mr. Park’s bottomless eyes.

“Get on the cross,” Mr. Park growls. Kris gets to his feet and hurries to obey.

Mr. Park’s movements are faster, rougher than usual as he secures Kris to the cross. His grip is strong, and Kris lets himself be manhandled, letting the implied violence sit under his skin and simmer.

The first hit comes without warning, a barehanded smack to Kris’s ass, hard and stinging. Kris jumps and yelps, adrenaline rising under his skin at the sudden pain. Mr. Park doesn’t soothe the sting in any way, doesn’t say a word; he leaves Kris to hang on the cross and hurt while he opens the drawers of the sideboard and rummages through his tools.

“Yifan,” he says. “How hard do you need tonight? As far as we have gone before, or farther?”

Kris twists his hands and wraps them around the chains holding him to the cross. “Farther,” he says. 

“What are your safe words?” The drawer closes. Kris wishes he could see what Mr. Park has selected, but at the same time the anticipation of not knowing makes his blood race.

“Yellow to slow, red to stop,” Kris dutifully recites.

A hum. “Good. Remember to use them if you need them.” Mr. Park steps close, and silence descends for one stretched-out moment.

He strikes. And Kris _roars_.

It was like being hit all over his shoulder with a dozen tiny, hard fists. The thudding reverberates through his body to his chest, stops his heart, makes his teeth rattle. It's pain, but not the sharp, stinging, quick-to-fade pain he usually associates with the playroom. It's less clinical, more _violent_ , and rather than making him go limp and subservient, it makes him _angry_.

Mr. Park hits him again, harder. It's punishing and cruel and it makes Kris snarl and jerk against his restraints harder than he ever has. The cross creaks in protest.

There's a deep, satisfied grunt behind him. "Ugh, that feels good. That _sounds_ good. Tell me how good that feels, Yifan." He pulls back, and Kris hears the toy slicing through the air just before impact makes him yell and writhe. Adrenaline is already pumping through his veins, and it takes all his will not to thrash like a caged animal.

"It fucking _hurts_ ," he snarls.

He literally hears Mr. Park spinning the thing a few times through the air before it smacks him right across the ass. Through his briefs, in a slightly better-padded spot, he can't feel the individual tails, or heads or whatever they are. It just feels like one large punch. A punch like that, if aimed at his gut, would probably have him on the ground; as it the need to _fight back_ is almost consuming.

He's also hardening, but that's probably a reaction to Mr. Park's voice rather than the pain.

Probably.

"Tell me," Mr. Park says, "how _good_ it feels." It's the most menacing tone Kris has ever heard him use.

"Go to hell," Kris snaps.

Immediately, instinctively, he cringes. Not because of the next _whack_ of the toy - but because _he just told Mr. Park to go to hell_.

If Mr. Park is offended, though, it's not apparent in his voice. "Manners, Yifan," he says mildly.

 _WHAP_.

"Fuck!" Kris yells, thrashing so hard the cross wobbles dangerously.

"Not without Kyungsoo's permission," Mr. Park mutters smugly.

Shit. "I fucking hate you," Kris gasps.

"No, you don't." His voice is closer, now, and Kris hunches his shoulders, waiting for the blow. Instead, he feels the rounded heads of the toy bouncing across his shoulder blades like very heavy raindrops, and moans in shocked pleasure. It feels like a percussion massage, a gentle rhythm that kneads the gathered tension out of his muscles.

Without warning, he's struck again, and that little bit of relaxation leaves him open for the most intense pain yet. Kris _screams_ and nearly yanks the cross out of the wall.

"Yifan!" Mr. Park's voice is a sharp as his whips as he fists a hand in Kris's hair and yanks his head back and to the side. Over his shoulder, Kris stares wide-eyed at Mr. Park's hard expression. "You will _not_ break my cross."

Something uncharacteristically defiant rises up with his bubbling anger. "Then nail it to the wall better next time."

His face is shoved into the padded facerest, and a long, heavy, _hot_ body covers his own. "How about I nail _you_ to the wall?" Mr. Park snarls.

Oh, shit, the threat, the _innuendo_ goes right to Kris's cock. He wants nothing more than to turn over and pin Mr. Park down, to _really_ fight him, but he can't, so he just _writhes_ , screaming out his frustration from behind gritted teeth.

His ass brushes against the front of Mr. Park's hips, and - oh. Shit. Shit? Fucking _shit_.

Mr. Park is hard as a rock.

All other thoughts leave Kris's mind. He arches his spine, pushing his hips back until they're seated right in Mr. Park's lap, a stunningly thick and hard ridge pressing into his cleft. Shocked in a completely new way, Kris moans like a whore and rolls his hips hard, grinding.

The hand in his hair tightens. "What the _fuck_ did I just say?" Mr. Park snarls. His other hand slides firmly, possessively, over Kris's sore back and down to grab a huge, rough handful of his ass. "Not. Without. Kyungsoo."

He lets go, and smacks Kris's ass so hard he can feel it jiggling despite how little is there to jiggle. "Mr. Park," Kris moans, knowing it sounds like begging and not caring.

"Be quiet. If you say another word, I will gag you."

Shit. A gag? That's new. Kris isn't certain if he will like it, either, so he shuts up.

"Better." Another smack to his ass makes him jump; he manages not to squeal. "Let's go back to something familiar, shall we?"

Kris hears him setting down the toy - damn, it sounds heavy - and pulling something else from the drawer. The moment he feels the soft tails of Mr. Park's favorite twin elk floggers, though, some of the tension bleeds from his shoulders, replaced with a fiery anticipation that races through his blood.

The rhythm starts out fast and hard right away, the floggers windmilling against his skin so quickly he can barely tell one hit from the next. He tries to hold his moaning in, but can't manage it, and the extra-sharp sting of his punishment strike makes his cock jerk. Shit, when did he become this kind of kinky?

Usually, Mr. Park starts out slow and ramps up, but tonight, it seems he intends the opposite. The strikes get slower, gentler, less regulated, until Kris is on the verge of begging for Mr. Park for more. The deep, spine-shaking pain of the previous toy is replaced by the all-too-familiar desire for the floggers, and Kris could really use that kind of high right now.

He doesn't get it. The flogging becomes a leather caress, trailing softly over his skin, lighting up his nerves and doing nothing to ease his aching cock. Eventually, the leather drops away entirely, and a single warm, wet kiss is pressed between his shoulders at the base of his neck, making him shudder and moan.

"Since you're obviously not feeling angry anymore," Mr. Park says, "I'm going to go take care of my _good_ boy now." Strong hands rub over his arms, briefly massaging them to help blood flow. "You stay here. Remember your words." And then, quiet and close enough that lips brush his ear, Mr. Park whispers, "Kyungsoo has given permission for this, so long as you don't look. I don't want to have to blindfold you, so be good and face forward, okay, Yifan?"

What?

But Mr. Park doesn't wait for an answer. He moves away, calling "Baek, here boy!" as he goes.

Kris’s eyes widen of their own accord. He’d completely, totally forgotten the other sub was in the room. Mr. Park had started commanding him and the thought had just flown from his head. Someone else - a _stranger_ \- saw him like that. Screaming. Swearing. _Begging_.

Holding back a moan of embarrassment, Kris lets his head drop to the headrest, his entire face and neck going red. He consoles himself with the thought that, as a full-grown man in a dog mask who gets off on being called _puppy_ , Baek has no room to judge.

It’s difficult to tell what’s happening. All Kris can hear is the shuffling of Baek crawling across the carpet, and a slight _thwump_ , the angle and depth of which makes him think it’s Mr. Park sitting in the armchair in the corner. That means he’s just out of sight, over Kris’s left shoulder. Kris could turn and look - he’s not _that_ immobilized - and if it was only that Mr. Park had commanded him not to, he would be tempted. He’s been toying with the idea of purposely disobeying, just to see what Mr. Park would do. What stops him is not Mr. Park’s command, but that he said Kyungsoo specifically asked him not to look. Disobeying Mr. Park is one thing. Upsetting Kyungsoo is an entirely different ball game.

There’s more movement noises, and some needy whining from the man-puppy. Mr. Park’s tone is sweet and coaxing, not at all the way he was speaking to Kris. “Here, precious, come on up here. Come on.”

_Up here?_

Is he - oh, yeah, judging from the sounds, he is. He’s climbing into Mr. Park’s lap.

Kris knows better than to get jealous, but it doesn’t stop him. Baek is in Mr. Park’s _lap_. Cuddled against his chest, probably. Up close and personal with his bulging cock, almost certainly.

Mr. Park has never, not once, had a noticeable erection during their play sessions. Not once. He’s made comments, sounds, that indicated he’s aroused by play, but Kris has never had indisputable evidence before. And to find it like _that!_ He’s going to have recurring dreams about that moment, he just knows it.

Soft, murmured praises from behind him make him re-focus his attention. Mr. Park is going on and on about how good Baek is, how patient, how Mr. Park is proud of him for lasting so long. There is an oddly squeaky sort of noise that might have been skin rubbing against latex, and then a soft, wet, drawn-out _schhlick_.

Baek _moans_ , muffled behind the mask but very, very human.

“There, there, all done. Good boy!” Something goes flying through the air, landing on the doggy bed, which is within Kris’s line of sight.

It’s Baek’s fluffy, furry tail. And attached to it is a sizeable purple plug, glistening with lube.

“Fuck,” Kris whispers, suddenly putting it together. He’d thought the tail was attached to the briefs, not - holy _fuck_ , has Baek been wearing that since Kris came in? Since _before_? He was wiggling his ass like that with a fucking _butt plug_ in it?

Then, it hits Kris that Mr. Park must have been the one to take it out. Just now. Baek is still wearing paws; he couldn’t have gripped it.

Kris’s world turns on its side. Up until this point, Mr. Park has been utterly _sensual_ , but entirely off-limits _sexually_. The idea of him touching Baek like that lights a fire up Kris’s spine.

Mr. Park’s low, deep voice is still murmuring praises and endearments, but under that, Kris can hear something else. Something wet, rhythmic.

“Yes, good,” Mr. Park coos. “One more, come on, you can take one more.”

He’s fingering Baek.

Right there. Right behind Kris, where Kris can hear it intimately but not see it. His beautiful, talented, dextrous fingers are pumping into Baek’s plump ass, and Kris can _hear_ it, the rhythm he’s using, the slight variations in force, the soft, needy, desperate moaning he induces.

“Pretty Baekie, you’ve been so good,” he’s saying. “I know you were scared. It’s okay, Yifan is okay. He’s not hurt. He’ll wait there patiently until we’re done. Let’s not make him wait too long, though, alright?” A little yip, as if in agreement. “Alright. No humping this time, got it? Only bad puppies hump things.”

The rhythm stops, and there’s a little shuffling, and - 

The distinctive sound of a zipper.

Kris sinks his teeth into his lip as his cock rages against his briefs, straining to be touched. There’s only one zipper in the room, and it’s on Mr. Park’s jeans.

More shuffling noises. The sound of the chair creaking. A tearing sound - fuck, it’s a condom. And then, after an eternity of holding his breath, Yifan hears a long, wet slide, and Baek moaning like his world is coming apart.

“Ah,” Mr. Park breaths, and _fuck_ if that isn’t the hottest sound yet. “Good boy. Come on, move.”

A new rhythm begins.

There’s nothing quite like the sound of sex. It’s distinctive. Wet, with a little squelch and a little slap. The way the breath falls in line with the motion. The way the furniture begins to protest the movement.

Kris closes his eyes, but it’s no use. Baek is riding Mr. Park’s cock, right behind him, right now. And he can’t do anything. He can’t move. He can’t touch himself. And worst of all, he can’t _look_.

He’s never, ever been this turned on. _Never_. Kris looks down his own body and sees the front of his plain white briefs gaping open as his erection pulls his waistband away from his skin. Inside, his cock is rock-hard and pointing straight up at Kris’s face, leaking precome like it’s crying for attention.

Their rhythm is already speeding up, and Baek is starting to get vocal, doglike whines mixed with human moans. It’s Mr. Park’s moaning that does Kris in, though, deep and masculine and powerfully sexy.

Unable to stop himself, Kris looks over his shoulder.

Baek’s back is to him, arched prettily, with his paw-hands folded up behind him. Below, his hips flare out into a bouncing, beautifully round ass, and there, rapidly disappearing into it, is a fucking _towering_ cock, deep red even through the blur of the condom and mouthwateringly thick.

Kris’s mouth opens into a silent gasp, his balls drawing up tight. Fuck, he feels like he’s about to fucking come. He should look away. He _needs to look away_.

Instead, he looks up, and finds himself looking into Mr. Park’s eyes.

Dark brows furrow. Big hands wrap around plush hips, maneuvering them into a better position. And then, he _thrusts_ , a sharp and powerful stroke that buries himself deepdeep _deep_ into Baek’s body.

Wailing, Baek comes, jerking helplessly in Mr. Park’s hands.

Kris turns away, biting back gasps and moans, his own hips jerking as his body looks for something, _anything_ , to rub against. He needs to fuck something, or to _get_ fucked. _Anything_. God, he’s so hard.

Behind him, Mr. Park is talking Baek down, telling him again how good he is, how pretty, how sweet. Baek is panting, gasping, and with the sound of buckles jingling, Mr. Park takes off his mask. Kris can tell, because suddenly, Baek’s sounds aren’t muffled anymore.

Kris squeezes his eyes shut. He’s already fucked up enough. He won’t make it worse by looking at Baek’s face. Mr. Park didn’t say that he was protecting Baek’s identity, but Kris knows he is.

Other noises, Velcro noises this time, herald the paws coming off. Then, the jingle of the harness, the collar. By Kris’s count, Baek is now completely naked behind him, and still cuddled in Mr. Park’s lap. Hell, for all Kris knows, he’s still impaled on Mr. Park’s _cock_. Kris didn’t hear Mr. Park come, after all.

He finds out he was right when he hears the long, wet sound of them separating, and Baek’s accompanying gasp. “Mr. Park,” Baek says softly, the first real words Kris has heard him say. “You haven’t - ”

“Shh, shh. Don’t worry about it.” Another sliding noise, probably the condom coming off. “You okay, baby?”

Baby. Kris wishes Mr. Park would call _him_ ‘baby’.

It’s strange, listening to Mr. Park talking Baek out of subspace. He does it a little differently than he does with Kris, but the basic idea is the same. When a wry comment makes Baek giggle, Kris hears them hugging, and then shifting and footsteps. The door opens, they say goodbyes, and then it closes again.

Heat wraps around Kris’s back, and big hands plant on either side of Kris’s cuffed wrists. “You looked,” Mr. Park accuses.

Fuck.

“I’m sorry,” Kris says softly. “I couldn’t stop myself, I’m so sorry.”

“No fucking self-control,” Mr. Park snarls. “What am I going to do with you, Yifan? You disobeyed me. Worse, you disobeyed Kyungsoo.”

Kris’s eyes squeeze shut. “I know,” he whimpers.

“Was it worth it?” Mr. Park’s voice is dangerously sharp and deeper than the Pacific. “Was that one glimpse of my cock fucking worth it?”

God. How the fuck does he answer that? 

“I don’t know. Maybe?” Kris knocks his head against the headrest, groaning. “You’re beautiful. You’re so hot.” Shit, the image of that thick, tall cock is still playing behind his eyelids. He desperately wants to see Mr. Park naked, and at the same time, the idea terrifies him.

“I know my own assets, Yifan. That’s not what I asked. _Was it worth it?_ ”

“I don’t know!” Yifan moans. “I guess it depends on how upset Soo is.”

He feels Mr. Park shift, and one hand disappears. “Let’s find out.”

Clicking and beeping. A text? Shit, he’s texting Soo! Kris groans in despair, apprehension making his stomach turn. He fervently prays that Soo isn’t very angry.

The hand that had pulled away returns, sliding down Kris’s ribs, over his stomach and hip, then down his thigh. It turns, blunt nails digging in, and claws long lines back up, from mid-thigh all the way to hipbone. Kris moans and jerks, his slightly softened cock going full-hard again.

“You are just having a hell of a day, aren’t you?” Mr. Park murmurs. “Showing up unannounced. Interrupting someone else’s playtime. Nearly ripping down my cross. And then, blatantly disobeying me, just for one glimpse of my dick. I didn’t think you were this depraved, Yifan.”

Shame heats Kris’s neck, but he doesn’t say anything.

“If you hadn’t looked, I would have kept going, you know.” Mr. Park’s tone is hard and flat. “I would have kept fucking him. He gets so relaxed and pliant after he comes. A perfect little fuckhole. I would have used him, and come.” Kris whimpers aloud at the image. “But I had to rush, because of you. I couldn’t take my time, because of you. I’m still unsatisfied, _because of you_. What are you going to do about it, Yifan?”

“Anything,” Kris answers without thinking. “Whatever you want me to. Please. I’m sorry. Please.” He’s not even making sense, because all that’s rattling around in his empty mind is _I’m still unsatisfied_. Still hard. Still huge. Still horny. Kris wants to help him. Kris wants to _touch_ him.

“ _Slut_.” The word snaps across Kris’s neck like a whip. “Anything? You _already_ disobeyed Kyungsoo, and now you’re throwing yourself at another man? Jesus, Yifan.” A hand fists in Kris’s hair, tugging his head back. “What I _want_ ,” Mr. Park snarls, his mouth brushing Kris’s ear, “is to cuff your wrists to your ankles and jack off all over your fucking handsome face. That’s what I _want_.” Kris moans loudly, shocked, his hips writhing as the image makes his cock pulse precome. “But unlike _some people_ , I have some fucking _self-control_. And so we will wait for Kyungsoo. And you will think about what a fucking slut you are.”

He shoves Kris’s head as he lets go, nearly hard enough to make him hit the headrest, but not quite. Kris barely has the chance to recover before there are hands on his wrists, then his ankles, unchaining him and letting him down. No, _no_ , they can’t be done, not yet! It’s too soon!

“Stop whimpering,” Mr. Park says, disgusted. “Face me and get on your knees.”

Kris obeys, tentatively looking up as he sinks to the ground. Shit, Baek’s come is all over Mr. Park’s sweater vest. And his jeans are straining around a massive bulge, so so close to Kris’s face.

Mr. Park reaches down, slides a finger into the side of Kris’s waistband, and snaps it. The elastic comes down right across the underside of Kris’s swollen cock, and Kris _wails_.

“Shut up,” Mr. Park says derisively. “I know you can take more than that.” He reaches over to the sideboard and pulls open one of the smaller drawers, taking out a pair of large, heavy carabiners, which he uses to clip Kris’s wrist cuffs to his ankles. Unable to do much else, Kris leans his weight back a little, gripping his ankles with his hands. It puts his upper body on full, open display, makes his bulging, soaked briefs the center of attention. He can’t imagine how he must look.

Mr. Park pulls his sweater off, folding it with the dirtied side inwards and setting it on the sideboard. With one hand, he resettles his silky silver hair, then pulls open the top two buttons of his striped shirt, revealing a slice of skin, his collarbones and throat and the firm curve of his chest. He rolls his sleeves up to his elbows, baring muscular forearms. He looks casually, impossibly sexy, and completely untouchable.

Then, the riding crop comes out.

It’s a rare thing, to be facing forward when Mr. Park pulls out a whipping toy. The way he holds it, his control, the dexterous twist of his long fingers as he flips the toy in his hand get Kris just as hot as his words or his touch. He drags the leather tongue of the crop up Kris’s front, lets it trail over his shoulders and down the back of one arm as he paces around Kris’s body.

The first snap hits across the thickest part of Kris’s tensed forearm. It stings. Kris makes a tiny sound.

“You need to learn some restraint, Yifan.” Mr. Park is still pacing, coming back to Kris’s front. “You need to learn not to think with _this_.” The crop drags up the front of Kris’s briefs, caressing his cock. Throwing his head back, Kris can’t help but moan wildly, his hips jerking up. Mr. Park has _never_ touched his cock before, not even with a toy, and it shocks his arousal even higher.

A quiet buzz. Holding the crop there, with the leather tongue resting against the underside of Kris’s cock, Mr. Park reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, unlocking it with one hand. Gasping, Kris shifts his hips, trying to get more friction on his cock, but of course the crop has no resistance, gives no relief, nothing more than a light, teasing tickle.

A frown, and Mr. Park flicks his wrist, whapping the underside of Kris’s cock just sharply enough that Kris jerks and chokes. “Hold still. Christ. You’re ridiculous.” His eyes flick across the screen, and then he smiles, just a tiny quirk of his lips. “I like the way Kyungsoo thinks.”

He holds the phone down, turning it so Kris can read the conversation.

_from: Mr. Park_  
_Yifan disobeyed me and looked when I was fucking another sub. I leave it up to you how I should punish him._

_from: Kyungsoo_  
_He cannot touch you, and he cannot come. Other than that, he’s all yours. Do whatever you like with him. I’ll be there as soon as I can._

Kris’s eyes slide up to Mr. Park’s face.

“See that?” Mr. Park purrs smugly. “You’re _mine_.” The crop slithers up Kris’s body, up his neck, and caresses his face. Cool leather slides over Kris’s lips, his eyelids, and Kris whimpers, fear fighting with arousal in his stomach.

The crop flicks against his cheek. It stings, but Kris knows it’s practically the flutter of a butterfly’s wing compared to the force Mr. Park could be using.

“You need to learn some control, Yifan,” Mr. Park says. The crop traces out his jaw, then flicks against his other cheek. “You’ve been _incredibly_ bad tonight. Kyungsoo is right. You don’t deserve to touch me. Or to come.” He tilts Kris’s face up with the crop under his chin. “Look at me.”

Kris meets his eyes. They’re black and shadowed, unreadable.

“From this point forward, you will not move. You will not make a sound. You will not take your eyes off of me, except to blink, until I say otherwise. Got it?” Kris begins to nod, but the crop flicks warningly against his chin. “Ahh. What did I just say?”

Kris holds perfectly still.

“Better. You said you needed more tonight, didn’t you?” The crop falls away. “Let’s see how much you can take.”

Taking a deep, soundless breath, Kris steels himself.

The first strike is to his upper chest, a few centimeters above his nipple, where the muscle is firmest. It makes a shockingly loud noise, and it stings like hell. Rather than moving away, Mr. Park hits the same spot again, and then again, each one harder and louder than the last. The last strike uses his entire forearm, a sharp, strong, controlled movement, and it feels like it slices Kris’s chest wide open.

Kris does not scream, but he wants to. His heartbeat is flying in his ears. The crop is sliding across his chest to the other side, and he takes another shaky breath. He can’t look down, so he can only trust that Mr. Park hasn’t broken his promise not to draw blood.

His other pec gets the same treatment. Three strikes of increasing strength, and then a fourth that flays into him. Gritting his teeth to keep from sobbing, Kris’s head falls back, his eyes squeezing shut.

A swift, unexpected strike high up on his thigh makes him choke back a scream. 

“ _Look. At. Me._ ” Mr. Park’s tone is _furious_ , and Kris quickly opens his eyes, fearfully locking them to Mr. Park’s face. Oh God, he looks so _angry_. “You’re fucking _pathetic_ , you know that? I’m barely touching you and you’re already losing it. Well here, let me help you with that.” His free hand drags down his body and grinds into his own cock through his jeans, gripping it, squeezing it, showing off how thick and hard and amazing it is. Saliva pools under Kris’s tongue as his eyes follow the movement, unable to look away. “Does that help, you little whore? Can’t keep your eyes on my face, maybe you can keep them on my fucking cock.” He flexes his cock into his hand, stretching the denim out.

Generally speaking, Kris prefers to put his cock into someone else, rather than have someone put their cock into him. But right now, there isn’t a _thing_ he wouldn’t do to get that cock inside him.

The crop comes back down.

Mr. Park starts up a quick, brutal rhythm, strikes that land all over Kris’s body with pinpoint precision. His shoulders. His thighs. His biceps. His chest. Across his calves. Against his back. And lighter, stingier flicks against more sensitive places - his face, his feet, his nipples, his cock.

Kris breathes harshly through his teeth, but he does not move. He does not flinch. And he does not take his eyes off of Mr. Park’s cock, which, he notices, jumps and throbs whenever he metes out a really heavy hit. It’s the only real indication he’s ever had that Mr. Park is an actual sadist, getting off on dishing out pain, and it makes Kris’s heart leap and stomach turn and cock pulse simultaneously.

How he can be in this much pain, but also this _hard_ , is incomprehensible. But it’s real, and his hips are shifting in the smallest movements he can manage, again looking for something to rub against, something to relieve the tight pressure of having been so hard for so long.

“Nnngh, fuck,” Mr. Park finally groans, rubbing himself again. There’s a wet patch that wasn’t there a few minutes ago, showing Kris that he’s in a similarly desperate state. “Better, Yifan, this is progress. Mmm, you’re lit up like a Christmas tree. Beautiful.”

Kris wants to look down at his own skin, which he knows is probably striped with angry red marks, but he keeps his eyes locked on Mr. Park, flicking between his expression and his cock. Mr. Park caresses his face again, with his hand this time, running his thumb over Kris’s lips.

“Kyungsoo said you were _all mine_ ,” he murmurs dangerously. “But you can’t touch me. And you can’t come. Make sure you don’t come, Yifan.”

His hand falls away from Kris’s face, and flicks open the button of his jeans.

Kris’s eyes widen, but that’s the only expression he makes. He is careful not to move, not to look away, not to make a sound. His fingers flex against his ankles, but he’s pretty sure Mr. Park can’t see that.

Slowly, teasingly, Mr. Park undoes his jeans. His black boxer-briefs underneath are super small and tight, and his cock strains lewdly against them.

Kris might have a heart attack.

Pushing his shirt-tails out of the way, Mr. Park reaches inside the soft cotton-lycra blend and pulls out his cock. It’s every bit as massive as Kris thought, beautifully proportioned with a thick shaft and a neat, comparatively smaller head, flushed red and snaked with veins over the hard surface. Kris bites his lip hard to keep himself from reaching forward or making a sound.

“Oh, don’t do that,” Mr. Park murmurs, reaching out with the hand holding the crop to wipe at Kris’s lip. His thumb comes away red. “We’ll talk to Kyungsoo about this afterwards, alright? I promise.”

Kris’s heart leaps. Does he mean - ?

The thought is drowned out when Mr. Park fists his own cock, a long, lazy slide that spreads precome down the shaft. Holy _fuck_ , he is _incredible_. A whine crawls out of Kris’s throat; he swallows it quickly.

“It’s too bad I have to teach you discipline,” Mr. Park mutters, adjusting the crop in his free hand. “I’d love to hear you beg me for it. Ah well, next time.” The crop taps lazily against Kris’s purpling, swollen, trapped cock, teasing him, but Kris is more determined than ever to be good, so he doesn’t move a muscle. He has a feeling the effort will be worth it.

Mr. Park begins to stroke himself. It’s slow and rhythmic, and possibly the most erotic thing Kris has ever seen. The way his fingers tighten and shift and tug at the skin. The way his forearm ripples. His heartbeat visible in the thick vein up the underside.

And then, once he’s gotten into that, he lifts the crop and starts whipping Kris again.

They’re lighter hits, mostly, but Kris’s skin is already oversensitized and every strike burns. It’s hard to take umbrage to the treatment, though, because Kris is just so fucking impressed with his coordination. He’s beating Kris with his left hand, and beating off with his right! That takes _crazy_ talent.

After a while, Kris stops feeling the crop entirely. The strikes are in the background, fading quickly into the general mass of sensation. All he cares about is watching Mr. Park jerk off. All he wants is to see Mr. Park come.

There’s a pause, and Mr. Park pulls out his phone again and looks at it. “Finally,” he grunts, thumbing a response to whatever he sees before dropping the phone back in his pocket. He takes a step forward, his hand wrapping again around his cock, his grip tighter than before. “You’re almost there, Yifan. This is your last test.”

He starts stroking himself, fast and tight and brutal, abusing his own cock. Kris’s breath catches and holds, because it’s obvious he’s going for the gold, he’s going to make himself come. And Kris wants that, wants it _so much_. He wants to beg for it. He wants to swallow it.

Instead, he gets it painted across his face and chest in long, thick stripes.

Mr. Park barely makes a sound as he comes, but the sharp contractions of his cock speaks volumes. Kris does everything he can to fight the instinct to turn his head away, to close his eyes. He’s still being tested, and he knows it.

“Ah,” Mr. Park finally gasps, his orgasm spent. “Good. Good boy, Yifan, that was perfect.”

Kris smiles, his chest feeling lightened at the praise. Mr. Park’s eyes have softened. They’re fond again, caring, and tiny fireworks of happiness explode in Kris’s mind.

The sound of a door opening and closing brings Kris back into reality. It was the outside door - is someone here?

Wiping himself off and tucking back in, Mr. Park takes a breath. With his jeans zipped again, he looks completely unmussed, as if he’d been placidly reading a book all evening or something.

“Come in,” Mr. Park calls.

Kris doesn’t look at the door, but it’s a close thing. He hears a familiar gasp. Kyungsoo.

He realizes what he must look like, and flushes from his ears to his toes.

Stepping away, Mr. Park murmurs, “I’m done with him. I think he’s learned his lesson.”

“Okay,” Kyungsoo says. “We’ll be out in a little bit.”

“Take your time.” Mr. Park disappears, leaving Yifan kneeling, bound, and covered in another man’s come, on the floor in front of his lover. The worst part is, he’s _still hard_.

Kyungsoo shakes his head, looking painfully disappointed. “I knew we were going to get to this point with Mr. Park sooner rather than later,” he says, “but I wanted to be there for it. You couldn’t have just listened?”

Kris purses his lips unhappily. 

Cocking his head, Kyungsoo asks, “Did he command you not to speak? He’s gone. Answer me.”

Likely the only thing that could get Kris to willfully break a directive from Mr. Park was one from Kyungsoo, and the words tumble out of Kris’s mouth in a rush. “I’m sorry, Soo, I really, really am. I didn’t do it on purpose, I swear.”

Sighing, Kyungsoo kneels and unbinds Kris’s limbs, encouraging him to sit properly. Kris groans, realizing now how stiff his legs are, and automatically reaches to rub at his still-aching cock.

His hand gets batted away. “Nope, not yet. You tell me exactly what happened, first.”

So Kris does, and Kyungsoo massages his legs and listens. Reliving the evening does nothing to dissuade Kris’s intense erection, and Kyungsoo’s caring touch isn’t helping either, and by the time he gets to the point of describing Mr. Park’s orgasm, Kris is squirming and gasping with the effort of not touching himself.

“Christ,” Kyungsoo murmurs. “He put you through the fucking wringer, didn’t he? Did you learn from it?”

Kris nods vehemently. He’s pretty sure he can take anything, now that he’s survived that.

“Alright, I believe you. Come on, darling, let’s get you taken care of.”

And then, in one smooth motion, Kyungsoo tugs down his briefs and swallows his cock.

Kris _screams_. His entire body convulses in a rippling wave that ends right in his balls, and he teeters on the edge of orgasam for one blissful moment. Then, Kyungsoo suckles on him, his tongue softly working the abused underside of Kris’s cock, and Kris goes toppling over the edge, his vision greying.

He collapses back onto the carpet, boneless, his cock still jerking into Kyungsoo’s mouth, and lays there senseless for a long moment.

When he comes to, it’s to the feeling of a warm, damp rag wiping the come off his chest. Kris opens his eyes and sees both Kyungsoo and Mr. Park leaning over him.

“Welcome back,” Mr. Park says, with a soft smile.

Kris tries to sit up, but his limbs feel like jelly. Strong, sure arms help him, and Mr. Park sits on his hip next to Kris, allowing Kris to lean on him as Kyungsoo finishes cleaning him up.

“Are you alright?” Mr. Park asks, soft and concerned. “That was pretty intense.”

“I’m okay,” Kris assures him. “You were amazing. I’ve never felt anything like that.” He laughs a little, thinking back over the scene. “You had my emotions twisted around your fingers. God. How do you do that?”

A chuckle. “Practice. Seriously, though. I usually discuss that kind of thing before I do it. You’re sure you’re okay? _We’re_ okay?” His eyebrows are drawn together, concerned. “Was it what you needed?”

Kris blinks, and realizes he’s completely, utterly forgotten why he came here in the first place. Why he was so upset, so angry. Oh, the actual knowledge is still there, but when he thinks back at the situation, his mind is clear, swept clean of cluttering emotions.

“Yes,” he says firmly. “It was exactly what I needed.”

Mr. Park hugs him, tight and reassuring. “Good,” he says. “I’m so glad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [come talk to me!](http://ask.fm/unnie_bee)


	4. Chapter 4

Kyungsoo and Kris meet Mr. Park at a quiet neighborhood coffee shop that Saturday to debrief. Mr. Park’s back in his usual grey suit, perfectly pressed and poised, and his expression is calm and kind as he asks variations on the usual questions. Did Yifan enjoy himself that night? Was there anything that made him uncomfortable? How did he feel about having a witness during his flogging? How did he feel about the introduction of sex?

That last one has Kris blushing and grinning. “I wouldn’t mind more of that,” he admits, a little shy. “Kyungsoo and I have talked about it, and if you’re willing, we’d like to move to the next level of, um, intimacy.”

Dark eyebrows raise. “I’d like that, but I didn’t want to push it. You’re sure? Both of you?” He looks at Kyungsoo when he says it, and Kyungsoo nods. “That’s wonderful, Yifan, I’m so glad.” He smiles, a real, broad, excited smile, and Kris’s heart skips several beats. Under the table, Kyungsoo’s hand clenches into Kris’s thigh. “Do you want to talk about that now, or at your next appointment?”

Oh. Um. Kris glances around the coffee shop. They’re tucked away in a back corner booth, and the low hum of music and chatter is enough that he doesn’t think anyone could overhear. “Now is alright, I suppose?”

And so, with the same easy confidence with which he does everything, Mr. Park starts to ask Yifan about sex. What acts he prefers, what acts he’s willing to do, what’s off the table. How involved he wants Kyungsoo to be.

They decide, together, that if they’re taking this next step, Kyungsoo is going to become more actively involved. They agree that Kris won’t top Mr. Park, only bottom - the very idea of which has him shivering internally - and that Mr. Park and Kyungsoo will not have intercourse. Any other combinations are on the table.

Mr. Park asks them if kissing is alright, which strikes Kris as odd, because if sex is allowed, why wouldn’t kissing be? But Mr. Park points out that some of his clients find kissing to be too intimate and personal, more personal than sex, and prefer to reserve it for their real-life, non-scene lovers, which Kris can understand. But Kyungsoo’s fine with it, so kissing is a possibility. Kris wonders if he can get a kiss before Mr. Park leaves, but he doesn’t think he’ll be brave enough to ask for it.

“Alright, I think we’re all clear on this part, for the moment. I did have one other thing I wanted to talk to you about.” Mr. Park leans back in his chair, cupping his coffee in both hands, and re-crosses his long, long legs. “Baek used to be my long-term, full-time sub. But he ended the arrangement a few months ago, and dropped down to appointment-only, like you are now. So I have an opening.” He met Kris’s eyes. “Would you be interested in being mine full-time?”

 _Being mine. Mine._ It rings in Kris’s ears. “Um. What would that… what would change?”

“That’s up to you. We’d negotiate the arrangement, the same as always, and you can of course ask to re-negotiate or end the arrangement at any time. In general, it would mean that I would be much more involved in your life. I would be able to contact you at any time, barring any restrictions you want to set on me. Baek, for example, asked me not to contact him by voice when he was working, only by text.” He cocks his head. “I would be able to command you outside of a scene. At any time, or at least, any time that’s within the bounds you set. Basically, playtime would extend outside the playroom.”

Kris sits back in his seat, his mind reeling. “Oh. Wow.”

“I would completely understand if you turned this down,” Mr. Park assures him. “It’s really not for everyone, and your situation is even more complicated because of Kyungsoo. But, I thought I would ask. You sought me out yourself when you were stressed, came to me for help. That made me wonder if maybe Kyungsoo is more right about what you need than either of you realize.”

Kyungsoo’s expression is impassive, which is not helping Kris decide. It sounds thrilling, and he trusts Mr. Park enough by this point that he could picture involving him in their daily lives like that. But it’s also a really big change, one that might take up a lot of Kris’s already limited time, and he’s worried about the effect it might have on his relationship with Soo.

“Um. I’m sorry, Mr. Park. I don’t think I’m ready for that.” Beside him, Kyungsoo deflates minutely. Is he disappointed, or relieved?

“That’s perfectly fine,” Mr. Park says smoothly. “It’s not a one-time offer. Let me know if you change your mind.”

There’s not much left to say, after that, so Kris pays the tab - including Mr. Park’s, despite his protests - and they leave the building. “I’ll see you on Tuesday, then?” Mr. Park says in the parking lot.

“See you then,” Kris says.

And then, to his surprise, Mr. Park beckons him. “Come here, Yifan,” he murmurs. Kris goes to him. Mr. Park slides an arm around the small of his back. “I’d like to kiss you now. Is that alright?”

Oh, fuck, his tone makes Kris’s knees weak. He remembers to glance to the side before he throws himself at Mr. Park’s mouth. “Soo?”

An amused smile. “Go for it.”

“Yes, Mr. Park. Please.”

Mr. Park licks his lips and leans in. His mouth is blazing hot and tastes like coffee and cinnamon, his lips firm and insistent as they slide over Kris’s. 

Kris moans and opens his mouth, inviting Mr. Park to take him. The invitation does not go unnoticed, and suddenly Mr. Park’s grip strengthens, hauling Kris close and kissing him hard and deep. Clenching his hands into Mr. Park’s suit jacket, Kris melts into the kiss, letting Mr. Park dominate him, own him.

It’s over too quickly. Mr. Park pulls away, searching Kris’s face. Whatever he sees there makes him quirk a little smile.

“Tuesday, then,” he murmurs, and then he’s gone.

“Holy shit,” Kyungsoo mutters. “That was intense. Are you okay?”

“No,” Kris says dazedly. “I need to get off. Like. Right now.”

Kyungsoo bursts out laughing. “Let’s get home,” he says. “I’ll ride you, and you can tell me all the filthy things you’re imagining right now.”

Biting at his kiss-swollen lips, Kris sweeps Kyungsoo up into his arms. “I love you, you know that?” he declares. “I love you _so much_. Yeah, let’s go home.”

 

~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~

 

"We're going to try a few new things tonight," Mr. Park murmurs as the familiar leather cuffs close around Kris's wrists, the only thing he’s currently wearing. And Kris had guessed that, because there's something new in the room - a long steel chain on a pulley, dangling menacingly from a hook in the ceiling Kris had never noticed before. The directional track lighting leaves the ceiling cloaked in shadow, but now that he's looking, he realizes there's actually _several_ hooks up there, big, heavy, industrial ones that are bolted in.

Also, Kyungsoo hasn't gone to sit in the chair. He's taken his shoes and socks off, but nothing else, and is pacing restlessly around the edges of the room, watching as Mr. Park pulls a shorter, finer length of chain from his cabinet.

"Stand, Yifan," Mr. Park commands. Kris gets to his feet. Pulling down the end of the chain from the pulley, Mr. Park clips Kris's right cuff to the short chain, passes it through a ring at the end of the heavy chain, and then clips it to his left cuff. "Move a bit for me, show me how much range of motion you have."

Kris pulls his hands apart, crosses them over each other, and moves them up and down, sliding the chain between them through the ring. It doesn't feel very confining, but he can't exactly just walk away, either.

Suddenly, Mr. Park grins, a wicked, _wicked_ grin. He loops his hand in the other end of the heavy chain and _yanks_ , and Kris's hands are pulled up over his head.

"How about now?" he asks smugly.

Kris's heart is pounding from the ominous rattling noise the chain made _alone_ , but he trusts Mr. Park, so he breathes and just tests his new position, as he was told. He has less maneuverability in this position, but he can still bend his elbows a bit, can still separate and move his hands. He instinctively wraps his fingers around the chain, letting his weight dangle.

The way Mr. Park's got the heavy chain looped around his own hand gets Kris's blood pumping. He's starting to harden already, just from the anticipation, and Mr. Park glances over him impassively, seemingly not at all impressed. He heads over to the sideboard again, chain still in hand, and it drags Kris's hands higher over his head. Kris makes a small noise as he's forced to straighten his arms all the way.

Mr. Park hums thoughtfully, digging through the drawer with his free hand, while his other swings out behind him, letting the chain loosen. Kris gets a moment to relax his elbows before Mr. Park pulls him up again. He's jerking Kris around, literally yanking his chain, and Kris huffs, exasperated.

Flashing him another wicked smile, Mr. Park pulls out his favorite flogger, the riding crop, and something he's never used on Yifan before, a rather large black paddle with holes cut out of it. He tosses those to the carpet behind Yifan's feet, then pulls out two more items he's never used before and holds them out to Kyungsoo. "Your choice, Soo," he says.

Kyungsoo comes over and takes them, holding them up so Kris can see what they are. A wide, heavy black silk blindfold... and a black ball gag.

Dark, round eyes flick up to meet Kris's. "The gag," Kyungsoo decides.

"Shit," Kris murmurs weakly.

"Hey, you get mouthy."

"You _like_ it when I'm mouthy. You told me so!"

"I'm also gonna like seeing your lips stretched around this," Kyungsoo pointed out. "It's a win-win for me."

"You two are so stinking cute," Mr. Park mutters. "For what it's worth, Soo, I would have picked the gag myself. We'll save the blindfold for another day."

A petulant, embarrassingly childish whine crawls out of Kris's throat before he can stop it. "Mr. Paaaaark," Kris pleads. "I don't _want_ to be gagged."

Mr. Park meets his eyes squarely, the teasing wickedness gone. "If you really don't want it," he says, "use your words."

Shit. Kris doesn't like the idea, but it doesn't bother him enough to halt the scene. Mr. Park raises an eyebrow, waiting, and Kris huffs. "Fine," he murmurs.

A flash of a smile. "This one is small," Mr. Park says. "The easiest one I have. Just try it. If you don't like it, you can tell me after the scene." He comes closer, and the chain slackens, allowing Kris's arms to drop until they're bent up in front of his chest. They already ache a little, and the opportunity to rest is a welcome relief.

"Hold this, please," Mr. Park says, and Kyungsoo takes the end of the chain from him, small, strong hands curling around the steel. Kris shivers. "Open up, Yifan."

Kris braces his chained hands on Mr. Park's chest as Mr. Park brushes the dangling length of chain aside and gently fits the ball gag into Kris's mouth. It's a hard, unforgiving little thing, made of black plastic, but it's light, hollowed out, with holes drilled in it so he can breathe through his mouth. Experimentally, Kris makes a bit of noise, and finds he can groan or hum freely, he just can't enunciate.

"Don't bite it," Mr. Park says softly as he closes the leather strap around the back of Kris's head. "Hey, don't bite, I said. Relax your jaw." He strokes the sides of Kris's face with both hands, massaging his thumbs into Kris's jaw muscles until they loosen. "You'll give yourself a headache if you clamp down. You understand?" Kris tries to say _yes sir_ , remembers that he can't, and nods instead, consciously keeping his jaw dropped. "Good. You can't speak your words like this, so if you need me to stop, clap your hands twice, okay?" Kris nods again. "Very good."

He steps away, and behind where he was, Kyungsoo's expression goes dark and hot. "Fuck," he murmurs. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, and Kris's eyes widen in alarm, but he can't call out to stop Kyungsoo from taking the photo. "Fuck, you look fucking _good_."

Kris is _already_ frustrated that he can't speak. He whines instead, shifting his weight awkwardly. It looks like Kyungsoo only caught his upper body in the photo, but still, it reminds Kris that he's completely naked and Mr. Park and Kyungsoo are clothed.

Which, in turn, reminds him that they've all agreed to sexual contact in the playroom.

Which, in turn, has his cock pulsing and thickening.

Anxiously, Kris tongues at the breathing holes in the ball gag. (It's hard not to, honestly; with the ball halfway in his mouth there isn't really a comfortable place to put his tongue.) Mr. Park had told him they would be starting slow, no intercourse yet, but there are going to be _dicks_ involved tonight and suddenly, Kris is really glad Soo chose the gag instead of the blindfold. If there's a chance he could get another glimpse of Mr. Park's cock, he doesn't want to miss it.

Kris is yanked out of his thoughts when his arms are yanked over his head. Mr. Park is behind him now, and Kris watches as Kyungsoo's eyes follow Mr. Park's motions. He must be bending down - probably picking up one of the toys on the ground.

The whistle of the flogger as Mr. Park spins it through the air is familiar. "Let's warm you up," he says, and immediately starts in with swift, light strokes.

It feels different instantly. Not because of anything Mr. Park is doing, but simply because of how Kris is bound. He can't lean on anything, can't even really shift his weight very much. His feet aren't restrained, but his arms are pulled up high enough that there's nowhere for Kris to go. His body jerks more than usual under each hit, not having the solidity of the cross to stop his reactions.

After a few moments, Kris really begins to appreciate just how comfortable the cross is. He misses being able to rest his head, to lean his weight forward. Having to support his own weight and remain still as he is literally whipped is much more difficult that he would have expected it to be.

Also, it leaves him entirely open to Kyungsoo's perusal. Entirely exposed, standing alone in the middle of the room. Every reaction to every strike is very, very obvious, and Kris has to turn his head and hide his face in his arm just to feel a tiny bit less exposed.

Warm, small, familiar hands land on his waist, and Kris unburies his face to look down at Kyungsoo. Soo is standing very close, and his expression is very dark, and his touch slides possessively over Kris's ribs, stomach, hips. A particularly hard strike makes Kris jerk and cry out, and Kyungsoo immediately steps closer, shushing him and leaning up to press soft kisses to Kris's jaw.

Kris whimpers. He can't help it. He already feels so much more overwhelmed than usual, and Mr. Park has barely started in on him. It's just, the contrast of Soo's sweet familiarity and Mr. Park's harsh, thrilling control is overloading his senses.

Then, Kyungsoo pushes up on his toes and starts to nip and lick at Kris's lips around the ball gag. Kris groans, trying to kiss him back, but not only can he not move his lips enough to do so, he can't even bend his head enough to get a good angle, not with his arms pulled up high like this. Another strike, the hardest yet, comes down right across the backs of his thighs, and Kris jumps, accidentally knocking Kyungsoo away from himself.

He tries to apologize, but he can't. All he can do is whine, wordlessly.

"You're doing well, Yifan," Mr. Park says. A little slack is introduced into the chain, and Kris gratefully bends his arms, shifting his weight to rest a bit. Lips press hot to Kris's abused shoulder, and Kris sighs and arches, welcoming Mr. Park's kiss with as much wordless enthusiasm as he can muster.

Then, another hand lands on his hip, bigger than Soo's, and tugs his hips back. A long, firm, clothed bulge presses between his bare asscheeks, and Kris practically chokes in surprise.

"So gorgeous," Mr. Park murmurs, so softly that Kris almost thinks he's imagined it. He's definitely not imagining the small thrusting motions, though, and he arches, grinding back, wanting to show Mr. Park how welcome this is, how much Kris wants it. It doesn't go unnoticed, and Mr. Park chuckles in his ear. "And so _eager_. Let's take you higher, baby."

Baby. Kris closes his eyes, revelling in the endearment. _Baby_.

Then he feels something wide, and heavy, and _leather_ , stroking down over his hip, and the glow is washed away by a wave of apprehension. He's never had a paddle before. He has no idea what to expect.

Mr. Park starts tapping it down the side of Kris's thigh, bouncing it off the muscle. Being made of leather, it does have a little give to it, but it's far thicker than anything else Kris has been struck with, far stiffer, far more threatening. Just the light tapping already stings.

The chain rattles, and his arms are pulled up high again, and Kris braces himself, going tense.

The first strike is right across his ass, because of _course_ it is. Kris yelps and jumps, the chain rattling, and wow, that really fucking _hurts_. There’s a deep, dull, radiating pain, but also a sharpness that’s much more stinging than he would have expected from something so wide and blunt.

Immediately, Mr. Park squeezes his ass, massaging away the sting. Shit, that feels so good. “Hang in there,” he says - and reaches up to tug on Kris’s bound hands, highlighting the pun. Kris groans.

“Kyungsoo,” Mr. Park calls. Kyungsoo steps in front of Kris again, appearing from somewhere behind him. He kisses Kris’s cheek, smiling at him softly, reminding Kris again of how lucky he is.

Then, he drops to his knees.

“Fuck,” Kris spits, or tries to. It comes out more like _huck_ , the ball in his mouth making it impossible to produce an f sound, but he’s pretty sure the point gets across because Kyungsoo is chuckling. He’s also sliding his hands up Kris’s thighs, his face close enough to Kris’s cock that Kris can feel his breath.

Distracted, the next slap of the paddle catches Kris completely off guard, and he yells and arches violently, his hips pushing right into Kyungsoo’s face. “Hold still,” Kyungsoo snaps crisply, his grip on Kris’s thighs tightening. Swallowing a whimper, Kris spreads his stance a little more for balance, planting his feet, and adjusts his grip on the chain over his head.

Kyungsoo leans in and laps at the head of Kris’s cock, leaving him gasping through the gag. At the same time, strong hands wind around Kris’s waist, the paddle still held in one and the end of the chain looped around the other. Mr. Park rests his chin on Kris’s shoulder and looks down. “Hmm.” His deep voice vibrates against Kris’s neck. “That’s nice.”

Lifting his eyes to meet theirs, Kyungsoo takes Kris’s cock halfway down and stays there, his tongue slowly working the underside. Kris’s body ripples outside his control, stomach tightening, and Mr. Park’s hands stroke over him curiously. The hand holding the chain slides up, letting Kris’s arms relax for a moment as he reaches around Kris’s face to stroke his stretched lips with his thumb. The chain in his hand lays heavy and cold against Kris’s cheek, and Kris feels his skin flush hot in response.

“Your jaw, Yifan,” Mr. Park reminds him. Kris obediently unclenches, not even having realized he was biting. Mr. Park pushes Kris’s face around, making him look back over his shoulder.

He kisses Kris’s face all over, his cheeks, his jaw, his forehead, his nose. At the same time, Kyungsoo starts to suck in earnest, and Kris hardens the rest of the way, moaning and squirming between them.

Taking Kris’s earlobe between his teeth, Mr. Park tugs. He pulls the chain down at the same time, forcing Kris’s hands up again, only letting go of his ear when Kris’s arm gets in the way. He taps the paddle against Kris’s thigh again as he steps back.

“You’re getting ten of these,” he informs Kris. “Count them out loud. And don’t you _dare_ come until you’re given permission. Got me?” Kris nods, knowing his eyes are wide. He has to try and count the strokes _through_ a gag, _while_ Kyungsoo’s sucking him off?

Too busy being nervous, Kris is unprepared for the first strike. It’s also across his ass, and considering how _hard_ it is, how badly it stings, Kris hopes Mr. Park stays on his ass. It feels like a strike anywhere bonier might break something.

“Hwoa,” Kris gasps out, barely approximating the correct vowel sound of the number _one_. Kyungsoo chuckles right around Kris’s cock, vibrating, and Kris moans, his ears heating with embarrassment.

Another strike. “Hoo,” Kris tries, squeezing his eyes shut. The pain radiates down his thighs and up his spine and dissolves into soft pleasure in the heat of Kyungsoo’s mouth. It’s taking everything he has not to jump and jerk when he’s struck.

The chain rattles, and Kris’s arms are pulled up higher. He has to stand perfectly straight now, his torso stretched up and ribcage lifted, or else the cuffs pull uncomfortably on his shoulders. Tears are starting to gather behind his eyelids, and he can’t swallow well enough to stop drool from dripping from the corner of his stretched lips.

His entire body jerks helplessly as the paddle comes down over his ass again. “Huee,” Kris sobs out. Kyungsoo’s stroking his thighs soothingly, and Kris has absolutely no clue how to feel. Everything hurts, but he feels so _good_.

The fourth strike comes down hot on the heels of the third, and Kris chokes out _hwoar_ , his ass throbbing and his dick pulsing and his head spinning. _Huai_ is harder and more violent than any strike yet and Kris is actively crying now, trying to squirm away. For the first time, it crosses his mind that he could end this torment, he could stop it. He’s pinned in place, but not so thoroughly that he couldn’t clap his hands, and he knows that the moment he does it the pain would end and both Mr. Park and Kyungsoo would be holding him and babying him and telling him it was alright, and that, in itself, has its own allure.

But because Kris knows he _can_ end it, he doesn’t. He squeezes his eyes closed, breathes, unclenches his jaw again, and stubbornly refuses to give up. He’s going to do this. He can make Mr. Park proud.

The next strike isn’t with the paddle. It’s the crop, familiar, but so much sharper and more concentrated than the paddle, a loud, rough _snap_ that feels very much like it slices Kris’s sore ass right open. “Hickh,” Kris cries, half a scream. 

The chain pulls. Kris is forced to rise up onto his toes, sobbing out incoherent sounds as his arms stretch. His legs are trembling. To make it worse, Kyungsoo takes him deeper, sucking him off in earnest now. Kris wishes he could look down, but he’s so stretched out that dipping his head that far is practically impossible.

Another slicing strike, against the other asscheek. Kris screams, bucking wildly forward, nearly swinging free as he tiptoes little steps to try and keep his balance.

“Count, Yifan!” Mr. Park snarls.

“Heheuh,” Kris gasps. It’s mangled, unrecognizable as a number, but it seems to be good enough.

 _Heah_ and _haing_ come fast, sharp strikes to the undercurve of Kris’s ass, one on each side, dangerously close to center. Kris counts, feeling drool and tears dripping onto his chest, feeling his balls pull up tightly as Kyungsoo’s sucking gets deeper, harder, faster. He’s teetering on the edge of brainlessness, only the counting keeping him from falling into senseless sensation.

The last strike isn’t with the leather tongue of the crop, it’s with the cane-like shaft, whipping harshly across the center of his ass, leaving a cuttingly sharp line of pain. “Hen,” Kris chokes out, relieved that it’s over, anticipating that Mr. Park will let him down now, cuddle him, tell him he was good.

He doesn’t. Instead, Kris hears the crop fall to the floor, and the heat of Mr. Park’s body covers his back. “Drop to your knees,” he commands.

Wide-eyed, Kris looks back over his shoulder. 

Mr. Park’s eyes might as well be flint. And gagged, Kris can’t protest. He can’t say, _but you’re holding me up_. He can’t do anything… except trust.

With a deep breath, Kris bends his knees, picking his feet up off the ground. He hangs for a moment, his arms straining, thankful for the heavy padding in the cuffs, realizing with a jolt that Mr. Park is essentially holding his _entire weight_ with _one arm_. Then, the chain loosens, and his feet touch again. Mr. Park lowers him down, slowly, until his knees rest on the carpet.

It’s a relief to be supporting his own weight again, but the chain is still taut enough that Kris has to hold himself up straight. He can’t sit back on his heels, he can’t lower his arms, he can’t curve his back.

Kyungsoo is standing over him now, and he cups Kris’s face in his hands, wiping away tears and saliva. “You look so destroyed,” he says, soft and fond. He tugs Kris’s face forward, gently grinding his very, very hard bulge into Kris’s cheek. Whimpering, Kris lets him, because he literally can’t stop it. “Mr. Park, is there a way to gag him and still have his mouth open for my cock?” Kyungsoo asks.

A dark chuckle slides down Kris’s spine. “Of course there is,” Mr. Park confirms.

“Hmm. I’ll keep that in mind.” Kyungsoo drops to his knees. There’s a rattle of chain, and Kris braces himself to be yanked back up, but it’s just Mr. Park readjusting as he, too, settles on his knees behind Kris.

Kyungsoo unzips his jeans. Behind him, Kris hears Mr. Park doing the same with his pressed suit pants. He moans and squirms in place, eager for what’s coming next, even if he has no idea what that might be.

A big, warm, callous-rough hand reaches around his body. For the first time, Mr. Park touches Kris’s cock with his bare hand, wrapping his fingers tightly around the base and squeezing. Moaning, jerking, _intensely_ turned on, Kris’s head falls back against Mr. Park’s shoulder.

“You will _not_ come,” Mr. Park reminds him, in a low, steely tone, “until you are given permission. And that won’t be until well after both Kyungsoo and I have come.” Kris whimpers, certain he can’t hold out that long, and even though he can’t use words, it seems Mr. Park understands. His grip tightens harshly, constricting, _choking_ his cock. “If you come without permission,” he snarls dangerously, “I will haul you back up and give you twenty more. You don’t want that, do you, Yifan?” 

Kris shakes his head vigorously, because he really, really doesn’t.

“Good boy,” Mr. Park purrs. “I _know_ you can do it.”

A touch to his cock startles Kris, and he pulls his head up to see Kyungsoo leaning right into his space, cock out and hard. Mr. Park opens his hand, and Kyungsoo slides in right next to Kris, his chest heaving with his breath as rough fingers close down again, squeezing Kyungsoo’s cock against Kris’s.

Kris moans like he’s dying, and Kyungsoo isn’t much quieter. He braces his hands on Kris’s shoulders for balance and rolls his hips, thrusting into Mr. Park’s hand. It’s not slow or smooth, it’s rough, like he’s already chasing orgasm. Kris has to _not come_ when he can _feel_ Kyungsoo like this? That’s going to be _impossible!_

Then, he feels a hot, thick, completely naked cock pressing against his _also completely naked ass_ , and Kris nearly loses it right there. He bites down on the gag and snarls loudly, like a caged animal, digging his own fingernails into his palms to keep himself from coming. Fuck, fuck, Mr. Park is so _big_ , he’s right _there_ , it would take only the tiniest shift of angle for him to completely _impale_ Kris and Kris has never, ever, _ever_ wanted a cock so badly. He rolls his body, pushing his hips back, rocking between Mr. Park’s cock and Kyungsoo’s.

“Mmmmm.” Mr. Park’s aroused groan is by far the most sexual sound Kris has heard him make, and it literally makes Kris’s body go weak, his thighs shuddering as his weight drops. Somehow, Mr. Park manages to catch him with the hand holding the chain without pulling on it too much, steadying him, lifting him back up fully onto his knees. He keeps that arm wrapped around Kris’s waist, pulling him back against his own body, supporting him. His other hand starts to move in counterpoint to Kyungsoo’s thrusting, spreading both of their precome down their shafts.

The little bit of extra slickness makes it that much better, and Kris is gasping, writhing, his hands still pulled up above his head but his hips moving as if possessed. Kyungsoo leans up and starts kissing his face again, all over.

“Fuck, I want to kiss you,” he mutters. “I want to shove my tongue down your throat, but somehow, it’s so fucking hot that I can’t. You look so good like this. So good. Fuck, I love you, I love you,” and if he says anything else, it disappears into Kris’s neck as Kyungsoo sucks a hickey onto the skin. Whimpering, wanting to tell Kyungsoo how much he loves him, wanting to hold him, Kris tries to move and can’t. He’s all but helpless - all he can do is grind and thrust and moan.

“Remember,” Mr. Park whispers, right in his ear. “Do not come.”

Kris tries to say _fuck you_ , and can’t. Mr. Park chuckles and doubles his pace, grinding his impressive erection hard into Kris’s ass as he beats both of them off with fast, tight strokes. Choking, Kris grits his eyes shut and tries to concentrate on how tired his arms are, how sore his ass still is, the sharp pain of Kyungsoo’s teeth in his neck, and not on how fucking masterful Mr. Park’s grip is on his cock.

Kyungsoo comes first, with a low, musical moan and his mouth open against Kris’s collar, jerking into Mr. Park’s hand and coating Kris’s cock with hot come. Kris whimpers, clamping down with everything he has to keep from being dragged over the edge with him, and it’s close, it’s fucking close, he does spurt a little but it could have been precome. When Kyungsoo collapses back onto his ass looking dazed, Mr. Park lets go of Kris’s cock entirely and leaves him bobbing naked in the air, heavy and sticky and so, so painfully hard.

Kris cries out in protest around the gag, but Mr. Park ignores him. He brings his hand behind Kris’s back, still dripping with Kyungsoo’s come, and starts to jerk himself off in long, rough strokes. Kris can feel his knuckles brushing Kris’s ass on every stroke, that’s how close his body is. Left untouched, Kris just hangs uselessly from the chain, listening to and feeling Mr. Park getting closer and closer and bitterly wishing it was his body Mr. Park was thrusting into.

It takes several agonizingly long minutes before Mr. Park makes a shocked little ah noise and hot come stripes across Kris’s lower back and sore ass. His own cock jerks sympathetically, bobbing untouched in the air, and his ears pink.

“Ohhhhh,” Mr. Park moans, his form going slack, relaxing behind Kris. The chain loosens, and Kris’s thighs give out. He drops onto his heels, his elbows bending towards his chest, and that alone is such a massive relief that it nearly makes him explode. Kris whines needily, squirming back against Mr. Park, wordlessly begging to be allowed to come.

Mr. Park’s form strengthens as Kris collapses against him, automatically catching him, supporting him. “Alright, alright,” he murmurs lazily. “Patience. Let’s get you down.” He reaches around and unhooks one of Kris’s wrists, and Kris collapses entirely, the chain sliding free from the loop. Standing, Mr. Park yanks on the heavier suspension chain, reaching up to catch it as it slides free from the pulley.

Kyungsoo crawls around behind Kris and pulls him into his lap, letting him curl up, stroking his face and hair. Kris is shivering, and still so turned on that a single touch might set him off, but he’s so deep into subspace, so high on sensation that he only squirms closer, blindly reaching for comfort.

Mr. Park comes around in front of them and sinks to his knees. He’s tucked his cock back in again, but he’s not zipped up, giving Kris a tantalizing glimpse of the soft black fabric beneath his pressed grey pants. Reaching forward, Mr. Park unbuckles the gag and gently pulls it from Kris’s mouth.

Gasping, Kris works his mouth a few times, licking his lips. He’s all swollen and the corners of his mouth feel tender. Dropping the gag to the side, Mr. Park grips Kris’s jaw, leans down, and kisses him thoroughly. 

The kiss feels so fucking amazing after who knows how long of not being able to move his mouth, and Kris can’t stop moaning, whimpering, writhing. He wants to come, he _needs_ to come, and he can use his mouth to beg again but Mr. Park is abusing it so completely that he _still_ can’t get the words out.

Mr. Park pulls back to breathe, and Kris seizes the opportunity. “May I come, Mr. Park?” he asks hoarsely, his tongue feeling jellylike.

A soft, indulgent smile, and big fingers wrap again around Kris’s throbbing erection. “Yes, Yifan,” Mr. Park murmurs. “You may come.”

Kris would love to take the time to really _feel_ Mr. Park stroking him, but he doesn’t last that long. All it takes is the flick of Mr. Park’s thumb against the underside of his cockhead, and Kris is coming, sobbing, writhing in Kyungsoo’s arms as Kyungsoo fights to keep ahold of him.

When it’s over, Kris collapses, awake but senseless. His world is grey, and his mind is floating in hazy, pleasured relief.

He doesn’t know how long he floats like that. When he comes back, it’s to the feeling of hands all over his body, warmth surrounding him, and teeth in his neck. But it’s not Kyungsoo this time. It’s Mr. Park, sucking a possessive hickey into the other side of Kris’s neck, mirroring the one Kyungsoo gave him.

He’s going to have a matched set of hickeys. The idea pleases him far more than it should.

Mr. Park pulls back, and Kris smiles up at him, weary and spent. The tenderness in Mr. Park’s returned smile is worth every moment of pain tonight, all by itself. “How do you feel?” Mr. Park asks, like he always does.

Rather than answering, Kris smiles again and burrows deeper into Kyungsoo’s arms, sliding down until he’s stretched out on the carpet, his face pillowed on Kyungsoo’s thighs. Both Kyungsoo and Mr. Park laugh, and Mr. Park leans down and takes another kiss, softer this time, and sweeter.

Then, he leans over Kris and takes a slow, sensual kiss from Kyungsoo, as well.

Flying too high on endorphins to even feel a twinge of jealousy, Kris turns his body and watches them with interest. They look really hot together, honestly, and it doesn’t escape Kris’s notice that Mr. Park kisses Kyungsoo a lot differently than how he kisses Kris.

Then, Mr. Park stands. “I’ll bring you something to clean him off,” he tells Kyungsoo.

Kris hears the door open and close, but that’s pretty much it. Within moments, he’s floating away again, drifting into a happy, exhausted doze.

 

~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~

 

“Sir, you…”

Kris blinks. “What, Joonmyun?”

A quirk of a smile. “Nothing, sir. It’s just… you might want to put on a tie before this meeting.”

At first, Kris is confused, but then his quiet, straight-laced admin cocks a very suggestive eyebrow, his eyes dropping to Kris’s neck, and Kris remembers the hickeys. The memory of how he got them floods his mind, and Kris’s cheeks pink, a smile floating up to his lips.

“I’ll take that into consideration,” he says gruffly, doing up the top button of his collar. He eyes Joonmyun. “Do I need to update your non-disclosure agreement?”

“You’ll get no judgement from me, sir,” Joonmyun says. “I’ve seen much worse.”

Somehow, Kris is not surprised. “Ever catch a boss with their pants down?” he asks curiously.

Joonmyun’s smile deepens. “If I had,” he says, “I would be professionally obligated not to tell you about it, sir.”

“Ha. I knew I liked you.” There’s a navy tie rolled up in his desk drawer; Kris pulls it out and settles it around his neck. “You can call me Kris, Joonmyun. No need to _sir_ me.”

“Sorry, sir. Um. Kris.” Kris laughs, and Joonmyun looks sheepish. “It’s habit, that’s all.”

Kris knows the feeling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [come talk to me!](http://ask.fm/unnie_bee)


	5. Chapter 5

“The first time we spoke,” Mr. Park says as the door to the playroom shuts, “I asked you about sex toys. You said you hadn’t used them much before, but you were open to it. Yes?”

Kris vaguely remembers this conversation. “Yes, sir,” he says, as he sinks to his knees.

“Hmm. Good.” He buckles on Kris’s cuffs with crisp familiarity. “Because we’re about to try out a _number_ of options.”

Excitement and anticipation bubble in Kris’s veins, but he keeps it bottled in. This is probably the eighth or tenth time that he’s been to Mr. Park’s playroom, and by this point, the feeling of the cuffs around his wrists is more than enough to make his entire demeanor change, to make the worries of his everyday life fade, everything disappearing except Mr. Park. As soon as the cuffs are on, he stands, bowing his head and clasping his hands behind his back as Mr. Park crouches to wrap cuffs around his ankles as well. They’re comfortable, like they’re a part of him.

“So you know,” Kyungsoo says as he sinks into the armchair in the corner, “Mr. Park had me send him our most recent STI test results, and he sent me his. We’re all clean.” He flashes a grin. “You know, in case that becomes relevant.”

Oh God. They wouldn’t have done that unless they were planning on intercourse. Tonight. _Now_.

Kris can no longer disguise his anticipation. Mr. Park glances at his face and chuckles.

“Don’t get too excited,” he murmurs as he stands. “We have a _long_ night ahead of us.” He hooks a finger in the d-ring of Kris’s cuff and leads him over to the far wall.

Tonight, there’s something new on the wall, next to the St. Andrew’s cross. A full-length mirror, and not one of the cheapo little drugstore ones, either. This mirror is taller than Kris is, and wide enough to easily capture both him and Mr. Park as they stand side-by-side. Mr. Park’s slim-cut, pale grey suit and deep charcoal shirt make a stark and striking contrast with Kris’s total nudity.

So busy looking at himself - and at Mr. Park - Kris doesn’t immediately notice the chains bolted to the wall on either side of the mirror until Mr. Park clips his wrists to them. “Show me your range of motion,” Mr. Park commands.

Kris moves. He can stand up straight, if he holds his hands up awkwardly near his chest. He can cross his arms or hold them out to the sides. He can even kneel, if he holds his hands above his head. But he can’t sit, and he can’t walk away.

“Good. Turn around.” Kris does so, ducking his head under one of the chains. It forces his arms to lay crossed over his chest, like a mummy. “Soo, would you like to do the honors?”

Kyungsoo hums. “Actually, I think I’m just going to watch, tonight.”

Kris blinks. Mr. Park turns, his head cocking inquisitively. “Really? That isn’t what we discussed.”

“I know. I changed my mind.” He pulls his legs up into the chair, settling down like he’s planning to stay awhile. “Pretend I’m not here.”

Let it never be said that Mr. Park isn’t quick on the uptake, because he hesitates for only a bare fraction of a second before he turns to Kris. “Alright, you heard him. As far as you’re concerned, Kyungsoo isn’t there.” Kyungsoo smirks, and Kris’s gaze automatically slides to him. Warm and _very_ strong fingers grasp his chin and force him to look back at Mr. Park. “You don’t see him. You don’t hear him. He’s a ghost. Do you understand me?”

Shit. Kris’s heartbeat is already racing and they haven’t even gotten started yet. “Yes, Mr. Park,” he whispers, cowed.

“Stay.” Mr. Park moves away, to the wall where his sideboard stands. Kris’s eyes automatically go to Kyungsoo again - he can’t help it, his boyfriend is by far the most interesting thing in the room - and he has to quickly look away, dropping his gaze to his feet.

Mr. Park returns and dumps an armful of toys onto the side table set up next to the mirror. A _large_ armful. Kris gulps, his eyes skimming over the frankly intimidating array of dildos, vibrators, plugs, beads, and cock rings displayed. He isn’t planning on using _all_ of those tonight… is he?

A movement catches his attention, and Kris looks back at Mr. Park in time to see him tucking both of his elk-leather floggers into his belt loop. The tails trail down his long thigh, drawing attention to the bulging front of his slim, fitted suit pants. Mr. Park steps forward, grabs Kris’s chin, and kisses him hard, without preamble and without mercy. Instinctively, Kris tries to reach forward, to brace his hands on Mr. Park’s shoulders, but the chains are too short and he ends up just jerking awkwardly, unable to do anything but drop his jaw and moan into Mr. Park’s mouth.

Mr. Park’s hand slides down Kris’s body, dragging over his arm, his side, his hip, until he cups Kris’s mostly soft cock in one hand and gives it a good, rolling, fondling squeeze. Kris chokes and jerks, arousal flooding his body even as his pride is pricked by the rough, casual treatment.

“Finally, I’ve got you alone,” Mr. Park growls. “Shit, I’ve been _waiting_ for this.” His fingers stretch lower, gathering up Kris’s balls in his hand along with his cock. Kris gasps, overbalancing, and his shoulders fall against the cold glass of the mirror. “No distractions, no dancing around. You’re _all mine_ tonight.” He tugs hard on his handful, and Kris squirms desperately, pricks of pain mingling with his pleasure. “Be good, baby, and I _promise_ you will enjoy it.”

The sudden shift in his attitude is disconcerting, but Kris has absolutely no doubt that he’s telling the truth. Mr. Park has always taken care of him.

Pulling away, Mr. Park picks up a rather large bottle of bright pink lube and pops it open. It has to be the flavored stuff, because a chemically sweet candy-like smell immediately permeates the room. “Open up,” Mr. Park commands, tapping Kris’s ankle with the side of his shiny dress shoe.

Oh. Fuck. Right now? Just like that, without any other foreplay, or… or anything?

Kris’s hesitation takes too long, because Mr. Park surges forward, locking his forearm across Kris’s collarbone and kicking his legs apart. Stumbling, Kris spreads his thighs, his heartbeat racing at that bit of violence, the threat of more to come. There’s a second’s hesitation in which Mr. Park’s gaze softens, and he waits, as if giving Kris the chance to fight back, or use his safeword and end the rough, casually demeaning treatment.

Kris doesn’t. He bends his knees, relaxes back against the mirror, and lets his trust shine through in his eyes.

“Good boy,” Mr. Park immediately croons. “Ah, fuck, you’re always so good for me. I’m gonna give you _everything_ you deserve, tonight.” He upends the lube over his hand, pouring it out onto his fingers. With one hand, he caps the bottle and sets it back on the table; the other reaches down.

Kris does not bottom very often. He fingered himself a bit when he was younger, just to experiment, and since then he’s only bottomed for Kyungsoo, and only a couple of times in the years they’ve been together.

Which is why, when Mr. Park pushes a lubed finger into him all the way up to the knuckle without any other prep, Kris arches so hard his head hits the mirror. “Fuck!” he yells.

“Does it hurt, Yifan?” Mr. Park murmurs, crowding closer and leaving stinging, toothy kisses along the side of Kris’s jaw and neck. His finger is moving, massaging away the sting in short, undulating strokes.

“Yes,” Kris whimpers. “It hurts, Mr. Park.”

He would have to be completely senseless to miss the way Mr. Park’s cock jerks. Sadist. But the pain is already fading, and Mr. Park’s strokes are getting slower, longer, fucking Kris with that one finger. It’s so rare that he has anything up there, that alone feels fucking incredible, overwhelming.

Kris wishes he could drape himself on Mr. Park’s broad shoulders, cuddle into his body. Being chained back against the wall like this is more distressing than the intrusion itself.

“Such a sweet, tight baby,” Mr. Park whispers. “How can such a tall boy be so tight? Ah, fuck, I can’t wait to get inside you.” His free hand pushes roughly against his own bulge, cupping it and squeezing it and grinding into it, and his lip curls. Kris whimpers, swallowing down a sudden profusion of saliva. Christ, but the man is well-endowed.

He’s terrified, but eager, and right now the eagerness is outweighing the terror. “More,” he moans, biting at his lips. “Please, Mr. Park.”

“Greedy.” Mr. Park’s second finger starts to push in alongside the first, slower this time, with a dexterous twisting-thrusting-scissoring motion that stretches Kris open and touches nerves he never knew he had. His fingers are so strong and thick, his hand so talented, and Kris can’t even bring himself to be embarrassed by the loud, lewd wantonness of his moan.

With his free hand, Mr. Park pushes at Kris’s elbows, urging him to raise his arms over his head. It opens up the front of his torso, forces his back to arch, and Kris feels exposed and vulnerable, but sexy at the same time. The heavy darkness of Mr. Park’s gaze helps with that.

Mr. Park bends his head, keeping one hand wrapped around Kris’s crossed wrists even as the other is still fucking him, probably the only person Kris knows whose arms are long enough to do that to him. He digs his teeth into Kris’s chest, biting down, and Kris groans and squirms.

With Mr. Park bent, Kris can see Kyungsoo again. He’s still curled in the chair, one hand toying with his own lips absently and the other pushing lazily down on the bulge in his lap. His eyes are wide, and completely black.

He raises an eyebrow, and Kris closes his eyes. Kyungsoo’s not there. Right.

Except that no amount of command from Mr. Park can actually erase the knowledge that his boyfriend is watching him get pinned down and finger-fucked by another man.

Mr. Park adds a third finger, and the burn, the stretch of it is better and worse than anything Kris has felt in that part of his anatomy before. He gasps, his hips working fruitlessly, torn between trying to pull away and trying to get more.

“There,” Mr. Park mutters. “Better. You’re almost ready. Hmm, how shall we begin this?” He turns to look at his pile of toys, thoughtfully tapping a finger of his free hand against his mouth while his other is still roughly fucking into Kris’s ass. “Ah, this one is a classic.” He picks up one of the less ridiculous dildos, a translucent purple one probably about the same size as Kyungsoo’s cock.

That doesn’t look too bad. Mr. Park is planning to start him easy, then?

Kris relaxes a little. Mr. Park must have been able to feel his relief, because he shoots Kris an amused look and thrusts his hand sharply into Kris’s body, pushing in until his knuckles are pressing Kris’s asscheeks apart. Immediately, Kris is tense again, whimpering as Mr. Park pushes harder, _harder_ , until Kris rises up onto his toes to relieve the intensity.

Then, the pressure is gone, and Kris falls back to his feet, feeling odd and empty. Mr. Park drops a swift kiss on the tip of his nose. “Precious.”

Scowling, Kris says, “I’m not an _innocent_ , you know.”

“You are to me, pumpkin.” Kris hears Kyungsoo snorting a laugh, and has to stop himself from looking over Mr. Park’s shoulder. Kyungsoo isn’t there. “Come on, sweetiepie, let’s get you your pacifier,” Mr. Park croons, and when Kris opens his mouth to shoot back something indignant, the purple dildo gets shoved unceremoniously into his mouth.

“Hmm. Better,” Mr. Park says with a cheeky little grin, his dimple flashing. Kris grunts at him, annoyed, but Mr. Park is holding the dildo in his mouth, gagging him with it, pressing his tongue down, stopping him from saying more. It tastes rubbery and weird. “Since you’re using that one, I guess I’ll have to choose another.”

He switches the purple one to his off hand and reaches back down into the pile. The dildo he comes back with is black, covered in strange nubs and ridges, and quite a bit larger than the purple one, and Kris’s eyes widen.

Mr. Park brandishes it close to his face, letting him get a good look. “I think this one will work,” he says.

He reaches down, and Kris instinctively closes his eyes.

Kris is lubed, but the dildo is not, so the first push has more friction than it otherwise would. The ring of muscle at his entrance pulses over and over as each ridge of the head pops into his body, and Kris groans in shock, his head falling back.

“That’s right,” Mr. Park says, softer now, serious, intimate. “Open up, darling. Relax.” Kris takes a deep breath around the dildo still in his mouth, trying to relax, to push out. He knows how this works in theory; he just hasn’t really done it in a while.

A trail of fluttery kisses up the stretched column of Kris’s neck helps with that, making him sigh, arch, shiver. The dildo pulls out, then presses in even deeper, slow but relentless.

A strong hand forces his head to tip back down. “Look at me, Yifan,” Mr. Park says. Kris does as instructed, opening his eyes and meeting Mr. Park’s. “Tell me, do you suck Kyungsoo’s cock sometimes?” Ignoring the surprised little gasp from the ghost in the corner, Kris nods. “Ah, good. Show me how you suck him.”

He pulls the dildo from Kris’s mouth and holds it such that the tip is just parting Kris’s lips, and Kris suddenly understands what he wants. His face erupts into a blush, his mind stuttering as he tries to figure out how he should react to this.

The dildo up his ass pushes in deep. “ _Now_ , Yifan.”

With a pained, aroused little sound, Kris gets to work.

He’s not really sure how, precisely, he sucks Kyungsoo’s cock, but since Soo’s cock is the only one he’s sucked in a good long while, he kind of just does whatever feels natural. Usually he’s bending down to suck Soo’s cock, not leaning up, and Soo obviously does not taste like silicone, but otherwise, it’s relatively easy to pretend. The dildo is similar enough to Soo in size and shape. He licks and sucks and bobs his head, all too aware of Mr. Park watching him intently, of soft, aroused sounds from the corner. The dildo between his legs begins to move again, and Kris whines, his senses swamped with input.

“Good boy,” Mr. Park whispers. His eyes are locked on Kris’s mouth, and he sounds almost entranced. “Mmm, fuck, you take cock so well. Look at you, filled on both ends and loving every second.” He twists his lower hand, and Kris gasps and arches, his chest heaving. “How much more will you love it when you get a real cock? Will you moan like this for me, sweetie? Will you beg me for it?”

Fuck, if that’s what Mr. Park wants, Kris would do it, eagerly. His mouth is too full to answer properly, so he lets his eyes flutter shut and moans deeply in response.

“God, yes. I’m going so deep in you, you’re gonna feel me in your fucking liver.” Kris almost chokes. “You laugh now, flyboy, but you’re not gonna be laughing in a few minutes.” He pulls the dildo from Kris’s mouth, letting him cough, breath.

“I’m pretty sure that’s physically impossible,” Kris points out breathlessly.

“Oh?” Dropping the purple dildo on the table, Mr. Park cups his erection through his slacks, giving it a lewd, dirty rub before he adjusts it to lie down one leg, stretching out his tight pants. He spans the length with his hand, stretching his fingers out as far as they will go, then holds his hand low against Kris’s belly, as if estimating just how deep into Kris’s ass he could really get. His fingers stretch from the base of Kris’s cock up past his navel. “Are you sure?” Mr. Park challenges, one eyebrow cocked. “Because I’m not all the way hard yet.”

And Kris is pretty darn certain the liver is up higher than that, but the idea of Mr. Park getting that fucking deep inside him has him moaning and squirming, his ass fluttering around the dildo. He’s never been scared of a cock before, but the way Mr. Park threatens to use his makes Kris’s nerves jitter.

“This isn’t big enough,” Mr. Park says, tugging the black dildo out of Kris’s ass. “Hmm.” He flicks through the pile on the table, considering some and immediately discarding others. “Ah! Yes, here we go.”

The toy he chooses isn’t a dildo, this time. It’s a plug, and it’s fucking _huge_. Kris’s eyes go wide, he can’t help it.

Mr. Park smirks at him, and holds it up closer to his face so he can get a good look. It’s not particularly long, not longer than the purple dildo, but it flares out widely, from a relatively narrow, rounded tip to a thick base fatter than any cock Kris has ever seen, including Mr. Park’s. His ass is clenching just thinking about it.

“I love that look,” Mr. Park murmurs. “That awe, that apprehension. Fuck, it looks good on you. Gorgeous.” He moves, grabbing Kris’s shoulder and roughly turning him around. Kris is shoved face-first against the mirror by a strong hand pressed between his shoulderblades. “Get comfortable, Yifan.”

The pressure releases, and Kris re-adjusts. The mirror is wide enough that bracing his forearms entirely on the wall outside the mirror is out of the question; he can either lean on his elbows on the glass itself, or lean on his hands on the wall. He opts for the second.

Once he’s settled, he looks up into the mirror. The first thing he sees is himself, naked but for the cuffs chaining him to the wall. There’s drool on his chin from the rough facefucking; he quickly wipes it away.

The next thing he sees is Kyungsoo, visible in the chair over his shoulder. Soo’s pants are open, his erection exposed, but he’s not rubbing it, just sort of holding it, his eyes locked onto Kris. Fuck, he’s beautiful, he’s so hot, but Kris reminds himself, Kyungsoo’s not there, he doesn’t exist, and tears his eyes away.

Then Mr. Park steps into view, long and lean, completely dressed, sexy as sin. With Kris leaning forward like this, Mr. Park seems to tower over him, in stature and in presence, and Kris’s neglected erection twitches. He wants Mr. Park _so_ badly.

Mr. Park seems to have other ideas, because he’s dripping generous amounts of lube onto the plug, careful to keep his freshly wiped hands clean. He sets the bottle aside and presses the plug to Kris’s ass.

The first stroke is shallow, slick, not bad at all. The second stretches him, the third stretches him more. By the fourth, Kris is moaning aloud, his eyes locked with Mr. Park’s in the mirror as Mr. Park fucks him more and more open on every thrust. Shit, that thing ramps up _fast_. The stretch starts to burn, and Kris whimpers, his body shying away.

“Get back here,” Mr. Park growls. He _yanks_ Kris backwards with a strong hand around Kris’s hipbone and shoves the plug another centimeter inside. Kris cries out, shuddering, only just catching the barely-there moan from Kyungsoo in the corner.

Then, there’s a hot kiss to his shoulder. Gasping, Kris looks up, and the sight of Mr. Park’s lips trailing off his bare skin, of Mr. Park’s dark eyes meeting his and the sheer, smouldering heat of his expression, has him entranced. 

“Relax,” Mr. Park whispers, his lips forming sensuously around the word. With a deep, shuddering breath, Kris consciously relaxes, and the plug slides the rest of the way in. It’s absolutely fucking massive, but the burn fades as Mr. Park gets it fully seated, and then Kris is just so, so _full_. “There, baby, there. Does it feel good?”

Kris makes an unsure humming noise, shifting his weight. Oh - _fuck_ \- okay, note to self, do not shift weight.

“Yifan,” Mr. Park purrs, tapping lightly on the base of the plug. The plug jolts, and Kris yips, high-pitched and startled. “Answer me.”

“It feels _big_ , Mr. Park,” Kris whispers honestly.

“But does it feel good?”

Kris takes stock. Weird, yes, but… yeah. “Yes, Mr. Park. It feels good.”

“Mmm. Good.” Heat leaves as Mr. Park moves away, and Kris watches in the mirror as he pulls his floggers from his belt.

His stomach jolts. Mr. Park is going to flog him? Now? With this - this _monster_ crammed up his ass? And he’s - oh. He’s leaning against a mirror. A _mirror_.

He’s going to have the chance to actually watch Mr. Park work.

That thought drives away his trepidation. He’s wondered about this so often. Kyungsoo has told him several times how incredibly sexy Mr. Park looks with whips in his hands, how talented he is with them, how beautiful his technique is. Kris has no idea if the reality will live up to his imagination, but he’s eager to find out.

Mr. Park puts both floggers in one hand, doubling the density of the leather tails, and spins them once, a simple swivel of his wrist. The tails blur through the air, and instantly, Kris knows he’s going to enjoy the _fuck_ out of this, because Kyungsoo is right. Mr. Park makes holding a whip look hotter than the fucking sun.

Meeting his eyes in the mirror, Mr. Park smiles, a secretive, knowing little smirk. He runs the tails through his other hand, flicking them lightly at Kris’s ass. It’s a tease, nothing more, but it makes Kris jump.

“You know,” Mr. Park says, “I like whipping people. I really, genuinely enjoy it. But whipping you, Yifan, is more than that.” He swings his floggers in two fast circles before striking, a precisely placed shot right across Kris’s upper thighs. He practically aims without looking. Shit. “When you first came to me, you were so closed off, so guarded. Walls that were stories high. Taking them down, opening you up, now that is _satisfying_.”

He paces a little, winds up and brings the whips down, a harder, sharper stroke over Kris’s back, and Kris gasps, arching. “And the best part is, every time I see you, I have to open you up again. No matter how much you trust me, it still takes a bit, every time, to get you to show me what you feel, to pull reactions from you.” He strikes again, this time so fast that it catches Kris completely off guard, making him jerk and writhe. “But you’re just like that, aren’t you, Yifan? You’re not the kind of man who just allows himself to open up. Not even to me.” _Smack. Smack. Smack._ Kris shudders under every stinging hit, unable to look away from the mirror even to close his eyes in pain.

So distracted is he by the way Mr. Park’s strong hands wield that leather, Kris has nearly forgotten about the plug. That is, until Mr. Park swats his ass bare-handed, making the fat toy jerk inside him. Pain and pleasure and _intensity_ jolt up his spine, and Kris shouts as his left arm gives out. He half-collapses forward, his elbow against the glass, breathing hard.

“You don’t just open up,” Mr. Park murmurs, taking a big, rough handful of Kris’s ass and massaging it, making the toy move and Kris screw his face up and whine. “You have to be _ripped_ open. And I _love_ it.”

He sinks his teeth into Kris’s shoulder. His nose wrinkles when he does that, and it’s incongruously cute, a weirdly sweet little detail in an ocean of dirty kink. Kris arches and tilts his head, wondering if this is open enough for Mr. Park, because he’s already wriggling and writhing in a way that feels completely outside his control. He’s putty in Mr. Park’s hands.

Backing off, Mr. Park spins his floggers again, making them whistle through the air. There’s red teeth marks in Kris’s shoulder. “How many do you want, Yifan? Thirty? Sixty?”

He’s gonna do the Florentine, then. Kris pushes back up onto his hand and braces himself. “Sixty, please, Mr. Park.” When the lashes come that fast, thirty strokes goes by way too quickly. It isn’t enough time to enjoy it.

“Mmm. Warm up strokes?”

“Ten, please, Mr. Park. And ten at the end?”

He gets an eyebrow in the mirror. “Ten? Are you sure, Yifan? Last time you only made it through six.”

Yeah, that’s pretty much why he’s asking for them. Last time, Mr. Park had stopped out of pity, because Kris was screaming so loudly. “I can do it, Mr. Park. I promise.”

Mr. Park’s smile is fond. “Stubborn. Let’s see if you can.” He reaches out to caress the side of Kris’s face, then steps back.

By now, Kris knows this pattern well, but being able to watch Mr. Park makes it new all over again. The warm up strokes are slower, softer. They spread over his back, drawing blood to the surface, heating his skin until it’s buzzing with the sensation. Kris counts them under his breath without being asked, his eyes locked on Mr. Park’s face.

The Florentine strokes come in beats of six, and Kris has always wondered how Mr. Park does it. After the last warm-up stroke falls, Kris shifts a little, moaning as the plug reminds him of its presence, his back aching in a gentle, pleasant way. His cock is standing out, throbbing, eager with anticipation.

Mr. Park flashes him a smile in the mirror, wrapping both hands around the joined handles of his floggers. His windup is bigger now, two-handed, the first strike slicing sharply across Kris’s shoulder. “One,” Kris breathes, entranced by the fluidity with which Mr. Park pulls back for the next, across the other shoulder. “Two.”

The first set of six strokes is staccato, giving him enough space to count between each one. Ten sets of six, that’s what he’s asked for, and his stomach drops out when he sees Mr. Park’s hands smoothly separate to go into the second set. The power of each hit remains the same, but they’re twice as fast, his big hands wheeling around each other as the floggers windmill, chasing each other through the air.

The beat is too fast for him to count each stroke aloud, so Kris switches to counting off only the first stroke in the sequence, the ones that fall across his right shoulder. “Two,” he says aloud, thinking _two three four five six_ as the whips come down. “Three!” _Two three four five six_.

By the fifth set, Mr. Park is ramping up his power. The floggers are a blur in the air, big circles with lots of momentum, pummeling Kris’s back. Kris wishes Mr. Park would take off his shirt. He’s felt the firm strength of Mr. Park’s body in his hands, but he’s never gotten to see it. He can only imagine how Mr. Park’s arms and chest must move as his strikes get harder and harder.

By the seventh set, pain is beginning to cloud Kris’s mind, and he has to concentrate to breathe. He can’t take his eyes off Mr. Park’s intense expression in the mirror. He’s vaguely aware that he’s still got a wide plug rammed up his ass, vaguely aware that his cock is stone-hard and aching for relief, but those sensations are nothing compared to the blanket of pain across his back. It takes all his will to stay still.

Anticipation has his heart leaping all through the tenth set, and he’s not disappointed. Mr. Park doesn’t even pause for a second as the last of the Florentine strokes hits, he just pulls his arm high over his shoulder and brings it down with the force of a lightning bolt. White-hot pain lances through Kris’s entire body, and he screams.

Mr. Park answers him with a half-moan, half-growl. In the mirror, his face is twisted into something Kris has never seen - fierce, passionate glee, pure sadism. His cock is huge and straining in his suit pants, a wet spot beginning to form near the tip. He’s terrifying, and absolutely beautiful.

“One,” Kris moans, blinking back the wetness welling in his eyes. Fuck, this is what he fucking _lives_ for.

A grey-clad arm rises again, and through his shirt, Kris gets the tiniest hint of Mr. Park’s pecs flexing as the whip is brought down across his body. It’s like getting sliced open with a fucking _machete_ , and Kris’s scream shakes the walls.

“You’re never going to make it to ten, Yifan,” Mr. Park snarls. “Give up before I _really_ hurt you.”

It’s probably meant to be a warning, but all it does is nettle Kris’s pride. “Two,” he grits out, meeting Mr. Park’s eyes in the mirror, _daring_ him.

The next strike is with Mr. Park’s left hand, but if anything, it’s even stronger than before, violent force that knocks Kris’s breath out of him and leaves him gasping like a fish, his cock twitching desperately. Strike four is somehow, impossibly, even harder, and Kris’s arms give out. He falls to his elbows against the mirror, and finds himself faced with the anguish and need and desperation of his own expression.

Strike five is the hardest Mr. Park has ever hit him, Kris is sure of it. His scream echoes off the mirror and bounces off the walls.

A warm, broad hand drops to his waist and slides open-palmed up Kris’s striped back, feeling the heat of his skin and the welts that have raised. Kris moans at the intense, unexpected pleasure of the soft touch, looking away from his own face to Mr. Park’s. He’s shocked to find that Mr. Park looks at least as affected as he is, his chest heaving as his breath comes fast, lust and need scribbled all over his features. He meets Kris’s eyes, with something almost like vulnerability shining in his gaze.

“Five,” Kris whispers, like a prayer.

“My god,” Mr. Park murmurs, looking awed. “Maybe you really can do it.”

“For you,” Kris agrees. “I wouldn’t be able to do it for anyone else. Just you.”

Mr. Park’s eyes close, and he huffs out a breath. “Give me permission to break the skin,” he asks - he _pleads_. “Let me bleed you, Yifan.”

Fuck, that’s so fucking scary, it makes Kris’s heart rabbit wildly in his chest, but he trusts Mr. Park like he has never trusted anyone, and adrenaline and arousal are swamping his better judgement. “Yes,” he breathes. “Just this once. Rip me open, Mr. Park.”

A trembling, wet kiss is pressed to Kris’s spine, and then Mr. Park backs off. He drops his second flogger to the ground, stroking his freed hand over the leather of the first, twisting the strands together. “Thank you, Yifan,” Mr. Park murmurs, sounding reverant.

Kris wishes the chains weren’t so short, so that he could reach down and squeeze his painfully hard cock. Mr. Park’s tone alone makes him want to come right now.

_WHACK._

The strike comes straight from Mr. Park’s hand, the twisted leather coming down faster than the eye can see. Screaming, Kris hits the mirror with his whole body as the worst pain he’s felt in his life cracks brutally across his back.

He doesn’t get a moment to breathe, or to count, or even to push himself back up. Grunting, Mr. Park strikes again, _even harder_ , across the same spot.

Kris can’t help it, he bursts into tears, pounding his fist against the glass as his senses go completely haywire.

“Ahh. Ngggh, _fuck_.” Prying his eyes open and looking up, Kris catches Mr. Park rubbing at his own cock desperately. His fist clenches and unclenches as he drags his hand away from himself, like it takes monumental effort to do so. “I can’t believe you can just _take_ that. Fuck, Yifan.”

The awe in his voice is all the strength Kris needs. “Three more,” he gasps. “Please. _Please_.” He wants it, and he wants it to be over.

The windup for the next strike is so wide and powerful, it draws Mr. Park all the way up onto his toes and comes down like a torpedo. Kris hits the ground with an anguished cry, his knees buckling under him, the pain so intense he has to use all his will not to lose control of his fucking bladder.

“Drop your head,” Mr. Park snarls, and Kris is quick to do so, getting it out of the way of Mr. Park’s swing. The breeze in the room feels wrong across his back, too sharp, and Kris realizes he must be bleeding.

The leather slices through the already raw wounds on Kris’s back, but by this point, Kris has barely any screaming left in him. He’s just sobbing, his pain pouring from his eyes, clenching his fists so hard he might be making _himself_ bleed in an attempt to not give up, not give in. He will _not_ use his safeword, not when he’s so close. One more, _just one more_.

He forces his eyes open and looks in the mirror just in time to see the last one come down, with Mr. Park’s entire body and all of his furious passion behind it. Pain explodes across him. It knocks a scream out of him that he didn’t think he had, that comes from his toes and his fingers, and Kris doesn’t realize he’s pounding his fist on the mirror until he hears a crack and sees a spiderweb appear in the mirror glass.

“Fuck. _Fuck_.” The flogger drops to the floor with a thud, and Kris raises blurry eyes in time to see Mr. Park reach down and drag him to his feet. His legs are so shaky, he can barely support himself, but Mr. Park does all the work, settling him against the unbroken upper part of the mirror and supporting him with a shockingly strong arm around his waist. Kris jolts, crying out weakly, as deft fingers work the forgotten plug out of his body. “I can’t wait anymore,” Mr. Park pants. “I can’t. I have to fuck you. I _have_ to fuck you.”

That brings Kris back out of his haze of pain. “Yes,” he moans, arching his back to give Mr. Park better access. The action makes his stinging back throb, but he doesn’t care. “Please, _please_ , Mr. Park.”

The sound of a zipper is the only warning he gets, and then a thick, huge, throbbingly erect cock is shoved directly into him in one long, brain-breaking stroke. There’s no stretch, because the plug took care of that, but fuck does he go in _deep_. Kris’s moan is shocked, overwhelmed, the pain of his wounds chased right out of his mind.

It feels _wonderful_.

Kris is still shaky, so he relies heavily on Mr. Park to hold him upright, spreading his thighs and letting Mr. Park take what he’s been aching to give for weeks now. And Mr. Park _takes_ , immediately fucking Kris with deep, long, slow strokes that drag every centimeter of his amazing cock over Kris’s sensitive skin. In the mirror, his face is screwed up with concentration, his eyes are locked onto his own cock as it pumps into Kris’s ass, and he’s so, so fucking sexy.

Big hands wrap roughly around his hipbones and haul him backwards. Mr. Park slams forward, grinding his cock into Kris’s ass, so deep that Kris can feel his asscheeks squishing against Mr. Park’s suitpants. It should hurt, it’s rough and unforgiving, but after the pain he just felt, this is nothing. If anything, the little pricks of pain only take him higher, his cock jerking wildly and precome leaking from him in streams.

“Ahh, fuck, what a perfect little ass,” Mr. Park snarls. “Shit, look how easy you take me, you little slut. You take this fat cock like it’s _nothing_.” Kris is so high, he can barely even bring himself to moan a response, and only his intense need to watch Mr. Park’s face in the mirror keeps his eyes from closing. “I could fuck your ass all fucking night.”

“Please,” Kris whispers, which is basically the only thought he has left in his head.

“Yeah? You want it?” Mr. Park’s fierce triumph is all over his face. “You want me to dick you for hours, baby? Fuck you until you’re so raw you can’t take another stroke?” The thought makes Kris’s insides clench, and Mr. Park, in turn, thrusts particularly hard. “Come for me, baby.”

Ohhhh, oh fuck. Kris closes his eyes, the words alone bringing his threatening orgasm right to the surface.

“Bitch, you do what I fucking say,” Mr. Park growls. He shoves Kris’s shoulders down, pressing his face to the glass, and hikes his ass up with one hand, forcing Kris’s back into an extreme arch, as his other hand reaches down and wraps around Kris’s cock. His next thrust is sharper and stronger than before, and it grinds right over Kris’s prostate, and oh, oh _fuck_. “Come. _Now_.”

The command of his tone coupled with the pressure both inside and out does Kris in. He comes, just like he was told, painting the mirror white and getting mess all over the pristine carpet. He moans, and Mr. Park moans, but there’s a third moan, familiar but forgotten.

Kyungsoo. Who has been here the entire time, watching Kris get off on being treated like an animal, a toy. Choking on the thought, Kris’s cock contracts with an aftershock, spitting one last weak little stream of come.

His knees feel like jelly, but clearly, Mr. Park is not done with him. His pace has doubled, fucking Kris rough and hard right through his orgasm, and Kris can only hang onto the wall and moan wantonly as Mr. Park continues to use him. After a moment, he regains enough strength to lift his head, open his eyes.

In the mirror, he can see that Kyungsoo is standing now, just to their side, furiously working over his own cock as he watches Mr. Park’s disappear into Kris’s ass. Kris locks eyes with him, overcome by the gorgeous expression of arousal on his face, unable to look away.

A hand fists in his hair, forcing his head to turn back to center. “Keep your eyes on me, Yifan,” Mr. Park commands.

Swallowing, Kris obeys. It’s not as if it’s a hardship to watch Mr. Park’s long, powerful body fluidly thrust, to watch his expression burn with raw lust. Mr. Park probably has to fake a lot of stuff for his job, attitudes and emotions, but right now, his need looks as real as anything Kris has ever seen, and it fills Kris up just as thoroughly as his cock does.

Getting fucked like this becomes almost meditative, after a bit. Mr. Park’s stamina is fucking incredible, and he shows no signs of tiring or slowing down, his beat constant and pounding. Kris’s body has long since gone limp, his muscles malleable, but the onslaught of sensation eventually gets his tired cock to perk back up again.

The soft gasp from the side as Kyungsoo finally jerks himself to completion gets him going. Kris finds the strength to push back, to roll his hips to meet Mr. Park’s thrusts. He’s hardening again, a refractory time he hasn’t had since he was a teenager with a hair trigger.

“Ohhh, yeah,” Mr. Park breathes as Kris starts to move. “You ready for more? Fuck, you’re such a good boy. So good for me.” Leaning forward, Mr. Park slides his hand down over Kris’s hip and wraps strong fingers around his cock once more. Kris sighs with pleasure, the tight squeeze feeling like heaven.

Mr. Park’s rhythm speeds, and his hand starts to move, and pleasure bubbles up under Kris’s skin all over again. He’s going to come again, he can feel it, creeping up his spine.

“Mr. Park,” Kris moans, half a whisper. “Please come inside me.” It’s part genuine plea and part a ploy to get Mr. Park to finish, already. The man’s stamina is absolutely _unreal_.

It seems to work, though, because Mr. Park groans, so deep and heartfelt that Kris can feel it vibrate through his cock and up Kris’s spine. “Yeah,” Mr. Park agrees. “I’m gonna fill you up, baby. Ungh, fuck, Yifan -”

It’s not much longer, after that. Kris swivels his hips a little, kind of weakly, but it’s enough. Mr. Park comes, and Kris can feel the pulses of his come as they ripple up his long shaft, can feel his mouth pressing open to Kris’s shoulder as he gasps his way through his orgasm. In the mirror, Kris can see his brow furrow and his nose wrinkle, and he’s beautiful, so beautiful.

Before he’s even finished coming, Mr. Park goes back to seeing to Kris, jerking him with determined strength. Kris comes again, after only a few strokes, overwhelmed.

Spent, Kris sags against the mirror. Mr. Park reaches forward and deftly frees him from his chains, and he slides gratefully to the floor, taking Mr. Park with him. With a slick, goopy noise, they separate, and Kris whines, hating the awkward feeling of leaky emptiness.

Mr. Park rolls off to the side, collapsing with his back to the wall, and drags Kris up against him. Shuddering with too many emotions and sensations to name, Kris curls into Mr. Park’s chest and hides his face.

“I’ve got you, Yifan,” Mr. Park breathes, his arms strong though his voice is shaking. “I’ve got you. Shit, that was amazing.”

A little thud, and Kris unburies himself enough to look at Kyungsoo, kneeling beside them with gentle concern in his eyes. “You okay?” Kyungsoo asks softly.

Nodding, Kris lets his eyes flutter shut again. “I’ve never been better,” he mumbles.

There’s a soft touch to his shoulder. The skin pulls oddly, and Kris draws in a startled breath. “These aren’t too awful,” Kyungsoo murmurs. “When you asked for him to bleed you… that scared me. But the cuts aren’t too bad.”

“The first aid kit’s under the sink in the bathroom,” Mr. Park says. “Could you bring it here? I’ll take care of him.”

Kyungsoo smiles. “You always do,” he agrees, and goes to do as requested.

Mr. Park tugs Kris closer, resting his chin on Kris’s shoulder and looking down over his back. “Thank you, Yifan,” he says, soft and sincere. “That took a lot of bravery, to say yes.”

Kris has to laugh. He’s too floaty to respond any other way. “Everything hurts,” he admits. “But I loved it. I loved it.”

“Yeah, we’ll see how much you love it tomorrow morning,” Kyungsoo says as he returns. Mr. Park shifts Kris into one arm, taking the kit in the other hand and popping it open on his knee. He hasn’t even stopped to clean himself off or tuck his softening cock back into his slacks, and Kris kind of thinks it’s sweet. Like Kris’s well-being means more than his own comfort.

Mr. Park takes the antiseptic ointment out and opens it. Kris watches him squirt ointment onto his fingers with foggy interest. “Did you see what you wanted to see, Soo?” Mr. Park asks.

A snort. “And then some.” 

Kris chuckles, fading into a groan as warm fingers sweep cold gel gently over his cuts. It’s the painkilling kind of ointment, and it feels just lovely. “Have you decided, then?” Mr. Park continues, still talking to Kyungsoo. “Do you want to try it?”

Kris blinks. He’s missing something. “Try what?”

“Kyungsoo’s been talking about maybe trying out the scene himself,” Mr. Park says. “As a Dom.”

Oh.

“Wait, really?” Kris asks. “You haven't said anything to me about that.”

A second set of hands joins Mr. Park’s, smaller but no less strong, with the familiar slick coolness of the lotion. Kyungsoo is careful not to touch the open wounds on Kris’s back, skirting around the areas Mr. Park has already medicated. “Maybe. I haven’t really decided yet,” he murmurs. “I wanted to see some things, do a little research. Talk to you.” Full lips press warm to the back of Kris’s neck. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow, okay? Just relax, tonight.”

Kris has questions, of course he does, but he trusts Kyungsoo that it can wait. Instead, he snuggles closer to Mr. Park’s chest, and lets them baby him, just for a little while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [come talk to me!](http://ask.fm/unnie_bee)


	6. Chapter 6

Honestly, Kris looks forward to debriefings nearly as much as the play sessions. They’re not dates, but they kind of feel like dates, and any excuse Kris can find to spend more time with Mr. Park is a good one.

It’s a nice day, so instead of meeting indoors, they go for a slow, leisurely stroll in a nearby public park. Mr. Park is relatively underdressed in a pale grey shirt with no jacket and deep steel grey slacks. He’s so, so handsome, and Kris will never get sick of looking at him.

They start with a quiet discussion of the last session, and Mr. Park listens as both Kris and Kyungsoo talk about their reactions, their thoughts. Then, he lowers his voice even more, a soft rumble, and asks a question.

“What would you think about going to a dungeon?”

Kris blinks, because the question seems to be a non-sequitur, but Kyungsoo gets it. “You mean a BDSM club?” he asks. 

Mr. Park nods. “I thought we might have our next session at a dungeon,” he says. “You’ve expressed an interest in learning more about domination, and let’s face it, Yifan’s a bit of an exhibitionist.” Kris flushes, but Mr. Park isn’t wrong, so he stays silent. “We could go just to look, if you want. Or, there are very experienced Doms and subs there, who I’m sure would be willing to give either of you a little extra lesson.”

Kyungsoo cocks his head. “Is that the kind of thing you can just… ask for?”

“People go to public dungeons for two reasons - either to be seen by others, or to play with others. Unless they’re looking for a new partner, but mostly the first two. If I go up to an established D/s couple and say _This is Kyungsoo, he’s learning the ropes, give him a lesson,_ many couples would agree to do it. Because then it can be a part of their scene too, you see?” He shrugs. “A lot of subs get off on being passed around and toyed with by strangers.”

Kris’s brow furrows. “I don’t think… should I still go, if I don’t want to play with strangers?”

Mr. Park’s dark eyes are compassionate. “Of course. If you want me and Soo to be the only ones, I will see to it no one else comes near you.”

Letting out a breath, Kris nods. “Then I’m okay with it. I wouldn’t mind watching others, or others watching me, but… I don’t know. It’s a trust thing.” He believes that Mr. Park will never hurt him, believes it viscerally and in his soul. He doesn’t have that kind of confidence in anyone else.

A big, broad hand slides into his, squeezing briefly. “Then you will be mine that night, off limits to anyone else. Except Soo, of course.” Kris smiles at Mr. Park, grateful. “Will you be okay with Soo playing with others? Or me playing with others, for that matter?”

“Sure.” Kris shrugs. “As long as there’s no sex, I’m fine with that. But, couldn’t you just teach him on me?”

“I’d prefer not to. New Doms always make mistakes, and those mistakes can be painful and embarrassing. It’s one thing to make a mistake like that on someone you’ll never have to deal with again, and another thing entirely to accidentally hurt someone you care about so deeply.” Kyungsoo is looking wide-eyed, so Mr. Park slides an arm around his shoulders, jostling him gently. “Don’t worry, there will be plenty of experienced Doms around to catch you if you start to screw up. A dungeon is a good place to practice, to learn. And an experienced sub who has been used as a training horse before can help you in their own way, as well.” He smiles. “As a matter of fact, I have just the pair in mind. I’ll have to call up a friend and make sure they’ll be there that night.”

The idea is exciting, but also nerve wracking. “What should we wear?” Kris asks softly. “Should we bring anything?”

“I’d like to show you off, Beautiful,” Mr. Park says with a wink. “Those dark jeans you wore to debriefing a couple weeks ago, I think. Doesn’t matter what else, it’ll be coming off.”

Ooh. Okay. “Yes, Mr. Park,” Kris says obediently.

“Soo, you can wear whatever you like, but something that looks a bit authoritarian is usually a good choice.” He waves a hand at his own perfectly-pressed slacks. “You’ll see Doms in everything from completely normal, casual clothes to nothing but black leather and latex. If you want to just be comfortable, that’s fine, if you want to put on an entire costume, that’s fine too.”

Kyungsoo nods thoughtfully.

“Looks like we’re back.” Kris looks up - they are, indeed, back at the parking lot. “Alright, it’s settled then? Friday night. Meet me at the playroom at seven, and make sure you eat first. It’ll probably be a very long night.”

Kris doesn’t want to let go of Mr. Park’s hand, but he does. “Yes, Mr. Park,” he says again. “Have a good day.”

Warm lips press to Kyungsoo’s forehead, then to Kris’s. “See you on Friday,” Mr. Park says, and then he is gone.

 

~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~

 

Friday night, Kris ends up skipping out of work a little early, much to Joonmyun’s surprise. “I’ve got a date,” is what he says when asked.

“Ah,” Joonmyun murmurs. “Got it. Actually, I have one too, tonight, so would you mind if I…?”

Oh. Really? It shouldn’t be difficult for Kris to imagine his straight-laced assistant dating, but it kind of is. “Sure,” he says, “so long as there’s nothing pressing.”

A shrug. “Just a report for Legal that’ll take me about ten minutes to compile.”

Great. “Do that, then you can go. Have a good weekend.” He’s out the door before Joonmyun’s reply has even faded.

At home, he jumps in the shower, nervous and excited. He’s quick but careful, and comes out clean and sweet-smelling and no less nervous. By this point, Kyungsoo is home, bringing with him takeout from their favorite Italian place nearby. Kris eats in his towel while Kyungsoo showers, and then they switch, with Kris in the bathroom styling his hair while Kyungsoo eats.

Kris is all too aware that he is going to be on display tonight, that Mr. Park wants to show him off. He has a deep-seated desire to do Mr. Park proud, so he takes his time and does it right, carefully tousling his black hair so that it sweeps across his forehead, just brushing the corner of his eye. It’s a different look from the crisply fashionable quiff he wears when he’s got someone to impress at work; it’s softer, more demure, and that’s purposeful.

Designer black briefs go on first, then the jeans Mr. Park requested, thigh-hugging and dark with contrast stitching. Mr. Park said whatever else he wore wouldn’t matter, because he would be taking it off; so Kris just tosses a black undershirt on and calls it done.

By the time he’s ready, Kyungsoo is also almost ready, and Kris has to stop and stare.

“Where did you find leather pants?” he asks, rather stupidly.

“The Internet.” Kyungsoo glances over at him, and Kris’s stomach does a little shimmy. He’s halfway through lining his eyes in delicate black, and the eye that’s done is absolutely fucking stunning. “You like them?”

“You look amazing, Soo.” Because he does.

A pleased, smug smile. “D.O.,” Kyungsoo says. “Mr. Park said I need an alias for the club. I’m gonna go by D.O.” With a surprisingly deft hand, he finishes lining his other eye, then turns. “Do I look Dom enough?”

The leather pants hug slim, firm thighs and a tight ass. His button-down shirt is deep blood-red, the sleeves rolled up to the elbow to display Soo’s strong forearms and hands wrapped in fingerless black leather motorcycle gloves. A simple black waistcoat nips in his silhouette at the waist and broadens his shoulders. His hair is swept up off his forehead, making him look older and more masculine, and his lined eyes are bottomless and dark.

Kris swallows. “D.O.,” he says, very solemnly. “I would wear cuffs for you any time.”

Kyungsoo saunters over to him, looking like he’s trying on a more dominant persona. It’s a little weird, but also hot, and when he wraps his hand around Kris’s neck and tugs him down more forcefully than usual, Kris can’t help but whimper and melt into the kiss.

“Maybe someday,” Kyungsoo murmurs against his mouth. “Come on, we can’t keep Mr. Park waiting.”

 

~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~

 

 _Let Out The Beast_ is a tiny, boarded-up, hole-in-the-wall looking place with a silly name and an unassuming exterior, and Kris has absolutely no idea what to expect.

Inside, there’s a small foyer, little more than a black-painted front desk and another door. There’s a low, pounding bass beat drifting through, but otherwise, it’s quiet, serene even.

Mr. Park, as it turns out, has a membership. Kyungsoo pays for himself and Kris, while Kris stands at Mr. Park’s side and tries not to fidget. The woman behind the desk, dressed in a black latex catsuit, smirks at him in a way that makes him want to hide his face in Mr. Park’s shoulder. He’s already halfway into subspace and he hasn’t even gotten the cuffs on yet.

They have to sign release forms, acknowledging that they are fully aware of what types of activities are inside and they will not bring legal action against the establishment for anything that might happen. Kris knows it’s just a routine thing, but it makes his butterflies flap harder.

On the other side of the door are a handful of private changing rooms, and Mr. Park guides them into one. “Shirt off,” he commands, pointing at the ground. Kris sinks to his knees and tugs his plain shirt off over his head, handing it to Kyungsoo.

“I have something for you tonight,” Mr. Park says as he closes Kris’s cuffs around his wrists. The soft familiarity of the padding sinks Kris deeper into subspace, as if a switch has been flicked. “A present.”

“Thank you, Mr. Park,” he murmurs unthinkingly.

Warm hands cup his face, and he sees Mr. Park looking down at him with fondness. “You’ve learned so well,” he praises. “You deserve this. Here.”

Kris doesn’t know what he was expecting, but a black leather chest harness is probably not it. The silver o-rings that connect the straps are pretty but intimidating, and Kris looks back at Mr. Park, unsure what to do.

Mr. Park helps him put it on, adjusting the straps with silver buckles. It’s definitely real leather, Kris can tell by the weight and the smell, and it’s actually pretty comfortable. Straps encircle his shoulders, connected across his chest and back with more straps, high up.

Kyungsoo reaches down and tugs on the harness a little. “This looks good on you,” he murmurs. His hand slides down Kris’s chest and flicks a little at his exposed nipples, making him shudder as they pebble up. Kyungsoo smirks. “Now it looks better.”

“Up, Yifan.” Kris stands, turning automatically to face Mr. Park, his eyes downcast. Mr. Park is tucking his folded-up shirt and shoes into a nearby locker, locking it with a padlock he brought himself and dropping the key into his pocket. “If another Dom approaches you and wants to play, you must tell them that your master, Mr. Park, has said you are not to be touched. Every Dom in here should respect that.” Kris nods. “You are not a puppy, so I won’t have you on a lead, but stick close to me, alright? It can get a bit crowded in there.”

“Yes, Mr. Park.”

“Good boy.” Mr. Park caresses the back of his head, and pulls him into a kiss. “Remember your words. If we need to leave, we will, no questions asked.”

They come out of the changing room and enter the dungeon.

At the first glance, it looks like any other club. There’s an open dance floor, a small crowd pulsing and swaying to the pounding beat of harsh techno, dimly lit with colored, flashing lights. It takes a moment to see that those lights are reflecting off of a disproportionate amount of naked skin and latex, and a moment more to notice the chains, posts, and cages that make up a large portion of the decor.

“Oh, I already regret wearing layers,” Kyungsoo says, just loud enough to be heard over the music. And it _is_ warm in the club, warm enough that Kris is thankful to be shirtless. “Don’t you get too hot?”

That’s directed at Mr. Park, whose grin flashes briefly in the green-pink-blue lights. “Used to it,” he says. “A good Dom doesn’t sweat.” He winks and leads them forward. “You want a drink, Kyungsoo?” he asks.

He doesn’t ask Kris. It’s probably purposeful, so Kris doesn’t comment, just steps closer to his master’s side.

A big, warm hand comes up to Kris’s back, absently tugging on the harness straps. Kris has never been sub in public before, but Mr. Park had told him the rules for tonight during the car ride over - don’t make eye contact, don’t speak unless spoken to, be respectful to other subs and extra-double-respectful to other Doms, and don’t wander off. Tonight, he is an object to be seen and admired, not a person.

So Kris links his fingers behind his back, drops his gaze to the ground around Kyungsoo’s shoes, and lets Mr. Park touch him. As they discuss drinks, Mr. Park’s hand slides up to caress Kris’s neck and the back of his head. It’s too intimate a touch for a public space, too casually possessive, and it makes his blood heat up.

In the end, Kyungsoo goes to get the drinks, and Mr. Park leads Kris over to a table at the edge of the dance floor. “Sit, Yifan,” he says - and points at the floor.

It surprises Kris, but he recovers quickly, and sinks to his knees smoothly, trying to look like a good, well-practiced, obedient sub. It stings a little, not to sit at the table like an equal, but he and Mr. Park have never exactly been equals, have they?

Mr. Park sits in the chair next to him, his hand carding through Kris’s hair. It’s soothing - if a little demeaning - and Kris takes a deep breath and lets his mind sink further into subspace, accepting the touch and even leaning into it.

“Very good, Yifan,” Mr. Park murmurs.

Kyungsoo returns with drinks. Kris is looking at the floor, and does not see Kyungsoo’s reaction to seeing Kris sitting at Mr. Park’s feet, in full view of the dance floor. Whatever the reaction is, he hides it, and sits on Kris’s other side.

“So what’s the plan for tonight?” Kyungsoo asks.

“I’m just going to let him get acclimated for a few minutes,” Mr. Park says, and it takes Kris a moment to realize ‘him’ refers to himself. “The Dom I wanted to introduce you to will be here shortly.” His hand slides down over Kris’s ear and under his chin, urging him to lift his head. “Look around a little, Yifan.”

Kris does as he is told, lifting his gaze and taking in the room. It’s really strange to think everyone in this room is probably a Dom or a sub, and that most of them have been doing it much longer than he. Some of the things he sees are surprisingly normal, and some are decidedly not, but all in all it isn’t as alien as he would have expected it would be.

Mr. Park has told him not to speak unless spoken to, so Kris can’t ask why he doesn’t see any active scenes going on; it’s just dancing and mingling as far as he can tell. But there are a number of doors leading out of the room, and Kris figures that’s where the real action is after he spots a scantily clad woman leading an even more scantily clad woman through one. They walk past the table, and Kris sees that one of the women is wearing an actual bridle, shaped for a human head but complete with reins and a bit in the mouth, tall boots shaped to look like a horse’s hooves, and a headband with a plume. The woman leading her is dressed in what appears to be the porny version of a dressage rider’s outfit and carries a riding crop in her hand.

Mr. Park sees him looking. “The pony is called Black Pearl,” he murmurs. “If you want, we can go watch her be put through her paces. It’s a cute show and she enjoys performing.” Before Kris can answer him, Mr. Park looks up. “Ah, there they are. Stand, Yifan.”

Kris gets to his feet as gracefully as he can - his legs are a little numb from kneeling - as Mr. Park greets the other Dom and sub. He isn’t even all the way standing yet, though, when he hears a familiar voice.

“Oh dear. This might be an issue.”

Kris’s eyes snap up, and his heart drops into his toes.

Standing there in tight black jeans, a black button-down shirt and heavy, military-style black boots is his straight-laced administrative assistant, Joonmyun. 

And Kris is shirtless, in a harness, having just been commanded to stand by his Master.

Fuck.

Mr. Park is instantly by Kris’s side, a warm hand on the small of his back, equal parts possessive and reassuring. “Clearly I’ve missed something,” he says. “Suho?”

Joonmyun’s eyes flick over to Mr. Park, and Kris abruptly realizes “Suho” must be his scene name. He makes a careful mental note not to use Joonmyun’s real name; for all he knows, he’s the only person in the room who knows it.

“We know each other outside of the scene,” Joonmyun explains. His demeanor is different here than it is at the office. “We work together.”

Not _I work for him_ , which might give away too much information. Kris relaxes just a tiny bit. Of course Joonmyun would be as conscientious here as he is on the job.

“Oh no,” Mr. Park says, sounding genuinely mortified. Kris blinks at him - it’s the most upset he’s ever seen the man display. “I apologize, I had no idea. Perhaps we should go, then, and I’ll ask another Dom for the lesson.”

Joonmyun looks right at Kris. “It’s up to you.”

Oh. It is?

Instinctively, Kris looks at Mr. Park. “You can speak,” Mr. Park says, very quietly.

Kris thinks about it. On one hand, the idea of Joonmyun, or _anyone_ who knows him in real life, seeing him crying and begging under Mr. Park’s hands has shame flushing down to his toes, and it’s not the good type of shame. On the other, though, he knows how discreet Joonmyun can be, how thorough and meticulous he is, and because of that, he suspects that Joonmyun would actually make an excellent teacher for Kyungsoo. “We were going to split up anyway, right?” he finally asks.

“Yes,” Mr. Park confirms. “We’ll go to different rooms before we start to play. Suho won’t enter our play space without your permission.” Joonmyun gravely nods.

“That’s alright, then,” Kris says. He flashes Joonmyun a smile. “I trust you.”

Joonmyun smiles back, handsome and reassuring, and seems to settle more into his skin, his shoulders dropping and his chin lifting. “I’m glad to hear it,” he says. “I am Suho. Mr. Park, tell me what you call this boy.”

And just like that, Kris is back in subspace, reminded gently but firmly that he is lesser, he is an object. He immediately closes his mouth and drops his eyes, a flush staining his cheeks.

“He is my newest, Yifan. And this is D.O.” Mr. Park skips right through the formalities, as if purposely moving attention away from Kris. “He’s the new Dom who requested a teacher.”

“I’d be honored to introduce you to the art,” Joonmyun says with a little nod in Kyungsoo’s direction. Kyungsoo returns the nod. “My boys are Hun and Kai. Say hello, boys.”

Kris does look up at that, because in all this confusion, he’s completely failed to notice that Joonmyun has not one, but _two_ subs trailing behind him. They’re both strikingly handsome young men, both a full head taller than Joonmyun, both wearing nothing but black leather short-shorts, revealing lean, gorgeous bodies. One is dark-skinned and dark-haired with sensual, lush features, and the other is light-skinned and light-haired with sharp, angular features. Their wrists are locked together with a metal separator bar, one young man’s right to the other’s left, forcing them to remain exactly a certain distance from each other, and there’s a lead hooked to the bar which is clipped to Joonmyun’s belt loop.

He unhooks that now. “Keep Yifan company while we conduct business,” Joonmyun commands, tugging the two young men forward and pointing at the ground between his chair and Mr. Park’s. “You may speak with him.” Kris looks at Mr. Park, who nods his agreement.

Together, the three of them sink to the ground. They’re all very long-legged, so it takes a moment for them to fit into the rather cramped space, but they make it work, a cozy little circle of chained, leather-clad subs.

The light-haired one, Hun, immediately asks, “You know our Master outside of the scene?”

The tail end of the lead whaps Hun across his exposed shoulder. “Not about that,” Joonmyun admonishes dryly.

“Sorry, Master,” Hun says, but he’s smiling. Kris immediately gets the sense that he’s a troublemaker.

The other one, Kai, seems to be a bit more demure, even shy in the way he looks up through his fringe at Kris. “How long have you been on the scene?” he asks, a much safer question.

“Two months,” Kris replies, half-listening as Joonmyun starts to ask Kyungsoo about his own experiences. Mr. Park’s hand slides down into Kris’s hair again, gently turning his face back towards the other subs. It’s a silent command, to pay attention to what’s going on on his own level, and not what the Doms are discussing. Kris appreciates that it was done discreetly, under the table, where Joonmyun could not have seen. “This is my first time at a dungeon, though.”

“Dungeons are fun,” Hun says, lifting his cuffed hand to brush his blond hair from his face. It forces Kai’s hand to lift as well, but Kai doesn’t react, as if he’s so used to it he doesn’t even notice anymore. “Did Mr. Park tell you what he has planned?”

“Only that it will be semi-public,” Kris admits.

“Ooh.” Kai’s dark eyes sparkle in the colored lights. “You’ll be in one of the Red Rooms, then.”

Kris cocks his head. “What’s that?”

So they tell him about the club, about the four huge Red Rooms where anyone who wanders through is invited to watch the scene, about the themed rooms beyond that, decorated to be settings for roleplaying, the smaller Blue Rooms that are for private scenes, and the Green Rooms meant for recovery and aftercare. They’re cute kids, clearly very close, practically (and sometimes _literally_ ) finishing each other’s sentences.

A touch to Kris’s shoulder has all three of them looking up. It’s Kyungsoo, and he drops into a crouch beside them. His leather pants stretch gorgeously over his crotch and thighs, and Kris smiles, loving him.

“Hello, boys,” he says, his melted-chocolate voice purposely pitched to be even more seductive than normal. “I’m D.O. Your Master has graciously invited me to borrow one of you for my first lesson.” He cocks an eyebrow, glancing between them. “Which one will it be?”

Hun and Kai exchange looks. “I’ll do it,” Hun says, folding his legs into a kneeling position and bowing his head. Kris doesn’t miss Kai’s look of relief; the quieter young man must not be comfortable playing with strangers, or something like that. “It would be an honor to serve you tonight, Sir.”

Kyungsoo inclines his head. “The honor is mine.” His hand rubs over Kris’s shoulders, and he glances to the side. “That okay, baby?”

Kris only smiles, and steals a swift kiss. He enjoys the curious looks Hun and Kai are giving them, but he doesn’t explain. Kyungsoo stands, and chairs scrape on the floor as Mr. Park and Joonmyun do as well.

“Then we’ll part ways here,” Joonmyun says, picking up the lead attached to the boy’s cuffs and tugging on it. They get to their feet, so Kris does too. “Mr. Park, we’ll be in the Blue Rooms if you need us.”

“Have fun,” Mr. Park rumbles. Joonmyun flashes him a handsome smile and Kyungsoo’s lips quirk, and then they leave, side-by-side, with the chained subs trailing behind them.

“That’s cute,” Kris murmurs. “Two tiny Doms with two tall subs.”

A discreet pinch to Kris’s backside makes Kris jump. “Don’t speak out of turn,” Mr. Park reminds him, and Kris flushes, dropping his gaze and shutting his mouth. “But you’re right, it is cute. Yifan, I’m only going to ask this one more time… are you sure you’re alright with this?” Kris glances up briefly, to find Mr. Park watching him with genuine concern. “This is an unconventional situation even for the scene, and I never want play to interfere with your relationships, at home _or_ at work.”

Dropping his gaze again, Kris smiles and shrugs. “I’m not the jealous type,” he murmurs. “I trust Kyungsoo, and Joo-, um, Suho is a good man. I think it will be fine.”

“Alright.” A warm hand caresses his neck; Kris arches into the touch. “I won’t ask you again, then, but you know you can always speak up if something makes you uncomfortable.”

“I know, Mr. Park. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Come on, it’s time to go play.”

Mr. Park guides Kris through the crowd in the opposite direction from the Blue Rooms, towards the doors Kris observed people going in and out of before. Following him quietly, without looking up, only trusting him to lead, is becoming easier.

“We’ll peek inside a couple of the rooms, first,” Mr. Park says as they turn down a slightly quieter hall, leaving the noise of the dance floor behind. “Looks like two of them are in session right now. You may look, but do not speak.”

Kris nods, and Mr. Park opens the first door.

He’d been half-expecting a crowd, but there’s only a handful of people outside of the two on the small, slightly raised stage, two Dom/sub pairs and one unattached person who could be either. There’s comfortable-looking, ostentatious red velvet furniture scattered about, and Mr. Park leads Kris over to a chair, sitting and placing Kris at his feet again.

Kris sinks to the ground with his eyes locked on the stage, knowing he’s wide-eyed but unable to help it. On stage, a man is laid out on a daybed, his upper body completely immobilized in a black leather straightjacket, his lower half naked save for the ankle cuffs keeping his legs spread on the bed. He’s wide-eyed and staring, but he seems to have eyes only for his Domme, a curvy, statuesque woman in fishnets and a corset, holding an odd, glowing implement that Kris can’t even name.

The woman touches the implement - toy - _thing_ to the man’s thigh, and Kris jumps as a loud buzzing sounds and tiny sparks jump to the man’s skin. It’s electroshock, it has to be, something Kris has heard of only in the vaguest of senses. 

Mr. Park’s hand drops to his hair, petting him, soothing him.

They watch for a few minutes. The woman wields the toy the way Mr. Park wields a whip, fast and then slow, strong and then soft, occasionally soothing the man with her bare hands in between. The man writhes and moans under her touch, uncaring of anyone else in the room. Kris can’t fathom how getting repeatedly shocked could feel good, but the man doesn’t appear to be in any real pain; his cock is stiff and purpling, straining against the leather cock ring wrapped tightly around him, and he moans the loudest when the wand dances over his shaft.

Movement from his side catches Kris’s attention. On the next couch over, a Dom is pulling a toy out of his sub’s rear, yanking her up into his lap and pulling her right down onto his own exposed cock. Once she’s seated, he simply wraps his arms around her and holds her. She squirms a little, then settles, relaxing into his hold like there isn’t a sizeable erection shoved up her ass.

Kris’s ears heat. That, he can see the appeal of. He could imagine sitting in Mr. Park’s lap in a room like this, cuddling, with Mr. Park’s thick cock crammed inside him like a living butt plug. Maybe he’ll ask Mr. Park about that later. Maybe someday, they can sit like that, and watch Kyungsoo working a sub over.

Oh yes, that idea appeals.

He’s startled by a touch to his leg, and looks down. Mr. Park’s toed off one of his shoes, and a large foot in a black dress sock slides into his lap, pressing down. Kris whines under his breath and arches into the pressure, knowing his face is flaming. He hadn’t even realized he was hard until that moment, and the thought of any of the other people in the room turning their heads and seeing him like this has him throbbing harder.

But Mr. Park is his Master, so he doesn’t protest. He lets Mr. Park grind down, the pressure too harsh, the method purposely demeaning him in front of everyone in the room. It’s awful, and _so_ good.

A rumbling chuckle, which he feels rather than hears, and Mr. Park slides his shoe back on. “Come,” he murmurs, sliding two fingers under the shoulder strap of Kris’s harness and tugging. They stand, and leave the room.

When the door shuts behind them, Mr. Park reaches over, without looking, and gropes Kris blatantly with one hand. He acts blase about it, his eyes on the other doors as if determining what will come next, but his strong grip has Kris’s knees almost buckling. He twists his hand, and Kris whimpers, a jolt of pain mixing with the pleasure.

Mr. Park smiles at him, brief. Then, he opens the door across the hall.

This room is noisier, with more people. Most of them are standing, obscuring the stage, so Mr. Park leads Kris over, keeping one hand looped around his harness.

As they get closer, Kris sees why everyone is crowding around. The sub is on her hands and knees at the very edge of the platform, completely naked, with what can only be described as a fucking machine thrusts into her from behind. It’s literally a motor with a dildo attached, a _large_ one, pounding her relentlessly. Her Domme stands over her in ludicrously high heels and a classy red pantsuit, holding a wand massager in one hand and the sub’s waist-length braid in the other. One of the other people in the room, a Dom, is standing just off of the platform, fucking into the sub’s mouth.

It’s a hell of an enticing image.

The Dom comes, and the sub’s own Domme pulls her head back sharply, causing the cock to fall out of her mouth and stripe come over her chin and chest instead.

“Next,” the Domme calls cheerfully, and her sub whimpers. Her face is streaked with tears and come, her eyes and lips reddened. Another Dom pushes his sub forward, and the second sub bites her lip shyly and hikes up her red latex mini skirt, straddling the woman’s face.

Mr. Park steps behind Kris, enveloping his back in heat. One of his hands flicks idly at Kris’s nipple, and the other slides over Kris’s crotch again, stroking his bulge. “What would you think of a scene like this, sweetheart?” he murmurs into Kris’s ear, quietly enough that no one else can hear them. “Not this exact one, but something public like this. Let my gorgeous boy be the center of attention.”

The Domme in charge of the scene reaches down, presses the massager between her sub’s legs, and flicks it on. Her sub’s moan is muffled, squirming to get away, but the Domme tugs on her hair and brings her back into line. Within bare moments, the sub is coming, her entire body trembling in a violent, overworked way that tells Kris this is far from her first orgasm tonight.

His nipple gets a harsh pinch. “Answer me, Yifan.”

Fuck. Kris turns his head so he can speak softly into Mr. Park’s ear. “Kyungsoo doesn’t want anyone but you to… to use me,” he points out.

“Of course,” Mr. Park says smoothly. “But he has no objections to other people watching _me_ do it.”

No, that is true. “Neither do I,” Kris softly admits.

A pleased purr. “Mmmm, excellent. I know just the room, then.” He shifts his body, rolling his hips against Kris’s ass; his cock is half-hard and bulging obviously, making Kris gasp. “It’s too bad you’re not to be touched tonight,” he says more loudly, as if for the benefit of the room. “I’ve had this bitch before. She’s a sweet little cocksucker.”

The sub’s cheeks redden, and behind her back, the Domme tosses Mr. Park a saucy wink. Kris imagines Mr. Park thrusting into the sub’s abused mouth, and has to bite his lip to keep from moaning aloud.

They stay and watch through two more blowjobs and another vibrator-induced orgasm, and then Mr. Park pulls Kris away. It’s obvious when they get out into the hall that Mr. Park was affected by the display, though of course he remains in total control of himself and everything around him. He does, however, push Kris roughly into the wall, grinding their clothed bulges together with too much force and kissing him like he’s trying to suck Kris’s soul out through his mouth.

It’s over too quickly, and Kris, feeling antsy and wrecked, follows a perfectly calm and furiously hard Mr. Park into a third room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **double update today! keep reading~**


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **this is the second part of a double update! did you read part 6? ******

This room is a bit louder, but it's undirected chatter, nothing but socializing. There's no scene actively taking place, but there are people milling about, as if waiting for one to begin. A Domme spots them as they enter, turning away from the Dom and sub she is chatting with, and wolf-whistles.

“A new one, Mr. Park?” the woman asks, loud enough that the rest of the room can hear. “He’s _cute_. You sharing tonight?”

Kris doesn’t dare raise his head, but he can hear the smile in Mr. Park’s voice. “Not tonight,” he says, polite and cheerful. “If you stick around, though, he might give you a show.”

His throat going dry, Kris takes a deep breath and tries to calm his racing heart.

Mr. Park leads Kris directly up to the stage. This one features an intimidating-looking rack suspended from the ceiling above their heads, and a table upon which long, heavy coils of rope in half a dozen colors are laid. As they break through the crowd to the front, Kris sees something he did not expect. Baek, in full puppy gear, sits patiently on the edge of the stage. An unknown man is with him, with a length of black rope in his hands.

Baek spots them before Mr. Park sees him, and his eyes light up so brightly, Kris can see it through the mask. He leaps forward, right out of the hands of the man who was holding him, and bounds towards Mr. Park.

“Baek!” Mr. Park sounds as surprised as Kris feels. He immediately drops into a crouch, catching Baek in his arms. Kris crouches as well, his body moving before he thinks about it, because, well, it feels wrong to be standing when Mr. Park is not. “Baek, you’re - you’re not wearing a collar.” Mr. Park sounds concerned; his face tells Kris that it’s genuine, not roleplayed concern for the scene. “Are you here alone?”

Whining, Baek wiggles his rear end, making his tail wag.

“Baek…” Mr. Park sighs, and Baek cocks his head questioningly. “You know you shouldn’t come to the dungeon alone. We’ve talked about this.”

A whimper. Baek noses into Mr. Park’s chest. His movements looks a little desperate. Kris looks closer, and realizes his shoulders are hunched, shaking. Mr. Park wraps a comforting arm around him, and looks up at Kris, with more uncertainty in his eyes than Kris has ever seen.

Of course. He wants to take care of Baek, his instincts and habits must be screaming at him to do so, but he doesn’t want to abandon Kris, to interrupt their time together. It’s noble of him, and frankly, it worries Kris that Baek is here alone, too. The younger man is literally muzzled and hobbled. What if something goes wrong? How would he protect himself? Mr. Park had warned Kris that occasionally predators would use the club to find victims; there were safeguards in place against it but if someone were to get Baek into one of the private rooms…

“He can stay with us, can’t he, Mr. Park?” Kris murmurs.

Baek yips, his tail wagging harder, and jumps from Mr. Park’s arms into Yifan’s. He’s heavy, much heavier than a real pup would be, but Kris gathers him close anyway, his protective instincts flaring. His own experience is unimportant; Baek’s safety has to come first.

“Yes,” Mr. Park says, sounding relieved. “If you want, he can stay.”

“I can leash him for you.”

Kris glances up without thinking. The man who was with Baek when they came in is watching them with curious eyes and the rope still in his hands. It takes Kris a second too long to process the fact that the words weren’t in Korean, they were in Mandarin.

The way the man is holding the rope, the confidence with which he stands, tells Kris that he is a Dom. Kris drops his eyes again, respectful. Baek nuzzles close; Kris scratches lightly at his back, hoping to calm him.

“I’m sorry, Lay, I don’t understand.” Mr. Park’s apology is polite, sincere, and carefully enounced.

Oh. Kris puts a hand tentatively on Mr. Park’s thigh; when Mr. Park looks at him questioningly, Kris translates under his breath. “He said he can leash Baek for you.”

Mr. Park blinks. “You speak Chinese? Nevermind, I’ll ask later.” He turns to the man - Lay, which must be a scene name - and nods. “Yes, thank you. I don’t have his collar with me.”

Lay smiles, and snaps his fingers. “Ya, Baek.” The puppy-boy responds immediately to the command, pulling from Kris’s grip and crawling back onto the stage. Kris gets a good look at the back of his plush, milky-white thighs, and sees rows and rows of harsh red whip and paddle marks, even a couple places where the skin is broken.

He thinks he hears Mr. Park growl unhappily, but it’s noisy enough in the room that he can’t be sure.

Dropping to one knee, Lay begins to wind the rope around Baek’s upper torso. Mr. Park leans over. “Thank you,” he says, so quietly that there’s no way anyone else but Kris could have heard. “When he’s in subspace, Baek literally only wants to please. He’d do anything, and I mean _anything_ , for _anyone_ who asked.” Kris’s heart stutters at the graveness of Mr. Park’s tone. “I’m sorry about this, but hopefully, it won’t interfere with our play.”

The boy’s not wearing a harness today, but within a few moments the rope begins to resemble one, a rather pretty pattern of black lines crisscrossing his upper torso, looped and knotted and tied off in the middle of his back, leaving a long trail of ropes which Lay quickly braids into a lead. He ties a loop into the end and hands it to Mr. Park with a flourish.

“Lovely, thanks,” Mr. Park says, while Kris is still gaping over how fast and skilled that was. Lay nods and smiles, his cheek dimpling. “I was going to use your rig,” Mr. Park says, as Baek crawls back to his side and kneels gingerly, his ‘paws’ between his knees and his dog mask pointed up at Mr. Park’s face adoringly. Lay cocks his head in question, and Mr. Park points at the rack suspended from the ceiling. “Is that okay?”

“Ah! Yes. Is okay.” His Korean is very stilted, very accented. He’s new here, clearly. “I stay?”

“Please.” Lay nods, and Mr. Park strokes a hand over Baek’s hair and fake ears. “Stay here and be good, Baek. Okay? Stay.” 

He slides his jacket off his shoulders and drops it to the carpet. Baek immediately paws at it, nosing into it like the smell makes him feel more comfortable. Maybe it does - Mr. Park’s cologne is very distinctive.

“Yifan.” Kris looks up. Mr. Park is standing again, looking down at him. “Get up.”

His voice is softer now, but firmer, and Kris knows, somehow, that his scene is finally beginning. He gets to his feet.

“Lay works for the club,” Mr. Park says. “He will remain to monitor us, but he is furniture to you. Understand?” Kris nods, keeping his eyes on the floor. “Good. Strip.”

What? _Now_?

“Do not make me ask twice, Yifan,” Mr. Park murmurs warningly.

Right. Okay. Swallowing down his trepidation, and without raising his eyes, Kris unbuttons his jeans.

He tells himself that he has literally seen more naked skin up-close in the past hour than in his entire life to date; that he is very attractive and in great shape and has nothing to be ashamed of; that no one will judge him, no one will be offended. It still takes all his will to step out of his jeans and stand in the middle of a room of strangers in just a tiny pair of bulge-hugging boxer briefs and his leather harness.

With his eyes downcast, the only person he can see is Baek at Mr. Park’s feet, whose blue circle lenses ringed in heavy black eyeliner are taking in his body in a very un-dog-like way. Kris is certain he’s bright red, but he stands as still as his jangling nerves will let him.

An openhanded slap to his ass makes him jump. “ _All_ of it, Yifan.”

Shit. Okay. Steeling himself, Kris unbuckles the harness, then quickly shucks the briefs as well. He’s hyperaware of the room going quiet, of eyes on him, people moving closer to get a good seat for whatever show Mr. Park has planned.

He leaves the cuffs on, both ankle and wrist. Those only come off when the scene is over.

A warm, familiar hand caresses his stung asscheek, squeezing him blatently. “Get on the stage,” Mr. Park commands quietly. “Dead center. Face the audience.”

The _audience_. Fuck. Kris does as he is told, his heart pounding. He finds himself obsessively trying to judge exactly where ‘dead center’ is, an internal distraction from the dozen or so people who are right there, watching him.

Shiny shoes and deep grey slacks pace into his vision, and Kris glances up a little. Mr. Park’s rolled up the sleeves of his plain white shirt, and he has one of the lengths of rope in his hand, red, passing the ends through his fingers over and over as if stroking it.

It hits Kris that the rope is probably about to be used on him. That he is standing directly under a rack made of iron bars, hug from the ceiling on heavy chains. That Lay, who is clearly a rope-tying expert if the speed and dexterity with which he made that complicated chest harness for Baek is any indication, is remaining to ‘monitor’ them.

He’s about to be hung from the ceiling. Naked. In a room full of strangers.

Terror and thrill war inside his chest. He clamps down on his emotions, unwilling to show how affected he is to the audience. Not yet, anyway. Knowing Mr. Park, though, he won’t retain that control for long.

Hands land on his shoulders, sliding down his arms, and then dragging up his stomach. There’s something dangling from Mr. Park’s fingers - a scrap of black lace?

Mr. Park’s hands slide up over Kris’s chest, neck, face, up to his eyes, and he settles the lace over them. A blindfold, of sorts. As Mr. Park ties it off, Kris blinks and squints. The lace doesn’t block his vision entirely, but it obscures it. He can see clearly as far as the edge of the stage, where Baek is cuddled on the ground with Mr. Park’s grey coat, but beyond that the bodies are blurry, the faces indistinct. 

It’s actually kind of a relief not to be able to see the expressions of the people watching, and Kris blows out a breath and makes himself relax. Mr. Park knows what he’s doing.

With the blindfold in place, Mr. Park’s hands trail down Kris’s arms again, taking his wrists and pulling them up behind his back. He lays them on top of each other, adjusting them a little, murmuring, “Find a comfortable position, darling.”

Kris does as he’s told, making sure his shoulders are relaxed and his elbows aren’t tucked too far in. He feels the rope slowly sliding up and around his wrists, wrapping around him multiple times. It doesn’t feel tight, and the cuffs around his wrists protect him somewhat, but still, the sensation of rope dragging across his skin gives him chills. A hand in the middle of his back holds the ropes in place as the ends are passed around his shoulders and across his chest.

One thing about this kind of bondage, as compared to the others he has so far tried, that Kris discovers he really enjoys, is how much Mr. Park touches him. His hands are all over Kris’s skin, leaving the rope behind in their wake, a physical manifestation of the control Mr. Park has on his body and mind.

Not being able to see well leaves Kris focusing on his other senses, and he’s hyper-aware of what Mr. Park is doing, not only his touch, but also the way he smells, the sounds of his movement as he circles Kris. Kris is trying to be good and stand still, but as Mr. Park knots a cage of rope down over his torso, he slides his hand down and gently strokes Kris’s cock, and Kris cannot help but arch into it, a gasp escaping his lips.

It pulls a couple of murmurs from the crowd, a chuckle or two, and Kris is reminded that they are not alone. But what he can see of the ropes tied around his body looks beautiful, and it _feels_ beautiful, and Kris kind of feels like a work of art right now, a performance piece. It’s the sort of being in the spotlight that he enjoys.

“What do you think?” Mr. Park says, projecting to the audience at large. “More red, or black?”

Suggestions are called out. The room seems evenly split between the two, but Mr. Park eventually decides on black, and his footsteps tell Kris he’s moving to get the new rope. He returns, his hands immediately going to Kris’s skin, and Kris breathes out relief. Without Mr. Park’s reassuring hands on him, the helplessness of his predicament starts to feel a little overwhelming.

The next rope goes around his right leg, wrapped many times around the middle of his thigh, and then again around his ankle. Nothing is too tight yet, and other than his hands, nothing has really been immobilized. Mr. Park has so far built a harness, not a straightjacket.

Then, he hears a bit of a rattle, and feels Mr. Park stretching his long body over Kris’s head. The ropes knotted around Kris’s body tug in multiple places. Kris wishes he could see what was happening; right now all he can figure is that there are ropes tying his harness to the rack above, somehow.

"Turn this way," Mr. Park commands. Kris automatically turns to face towards him; through the lace Mr. Park's tall form is a grey shadow. "Lean forward. Like this." He holds his forearm up in front of himself at an angle, wrist straight.

Kris starts to bend, but Mr. Park stops him with firm hands. "Stay straight," he murmurs. "Just lean."

Oh. Kris gets it.

He leans forward from the ankle, the rest of his body held flat. With his hands tied behind his back like this, if he leans to far, he’ll fall on his face, no way to stop himself. It's a little terrifying.

But Kris does it, because Kris trusts Mr. Park.

There's a moment where he's falling, when he's leaned too far and his gut drops out. Then, the ropes engage, and he stops, his body held up at perhaps a 45 degree angle from the floor. His toes are all that keeps his body from spinning; he spreads his stance for balance and takes a deep breath. Holding the position forces his entire center to tense up, his abs and back and thighs and butt.

"Ooh, nice," someone says, and someone else comments, "That harness is doing amazing things for his ass," and Kris suddenly remembers the audience again. He flushes, but stays still.

Mr. Park cups his face, presses a kiss to Kris's forehead. Kris sighs. "Good boy," Mr. Park purrs, stroking his thumb over Kris's cheek.

He goes back to knotting ropes. With Kris suspended like this, all he can do is hold still and remember to breathe as his arms are tied down tighter and ropes slither through and around the ropes already against his skin. He doesn't know exactly what Mr. Park is doing, and at first that makes him a little nervous, makes him listen extra hard, trying to anticipate what will come next. After a while, though, he stops trying, closing his eyes and just feeling Mr. Park touch him, his hands gently and methodically covering every inch of Kris's body.

He doesn't forget the audience again. They don't let him. There's a soft, running commentary from the room, people exclaiming over Mr. Park's skill and over Kris's beauty and obedience. It makes him practically glow with pride, makes him preen, even though he knows he's being discussed as an art object, not a person. That's alright. He doesn't need to be a person, to these people. He's important to Mr. Park, and he knows it, and that’s all that matters.

One woman asks about the bondage itself, stating that the question is from her sub, too quiet to hear, and asking for Lay to tell them a little about it. And Lay does try, but it's pretty clear that his Korean isn't yet good enough to communicate the complexity he wants to.

"Yifan," Mr. Park says, as his hands glide over Kris's ass and down to the ropes wrapped high around his thighs. "Please translate for Lay."

Kris does. Lay talks of the rope as a physical connection between Dom and sub, as a manifestation of their bond. He speaks of the calm a sub falls into as they give up their agency, leaving themselves fully in the hands of someone they trust. He talks about inducing the feeling of weightlessness in body and mind, and about how the Dom feels as they learn their sub's body intimately, as they accept the sub's safety and well-being and cradle it in their hands, as they create art. He's extraordinarily poetic about it, and translating for him feels a bit like reciting a mantra. Kris tries to do his eloquence justice over the language barrier.

"Very good, Yifan." Mr. Park's praise is a sweet balm on Kris's heart. "You've been _so_ good, holding still for me. Are you ready to relax now?"

It would be nice, yes. His abs are starting to shudder from the strain; he's not used to holding himself up like this for so long. "Yes, Mr. Park."

"Alright. Lay, if you please?"

Lay comes over, and takes a few ropes from Mr. Park's hands. They move out of Kris's sight. Apprehension rises up in Kris's body like a wave, washing over the meditative calm in his mind.

Mr. Park must do something to signal Lay, but Kris never sees it, never hears it. All he knows is that suddenly his feet are pulled up from under him, and like a puppet, he is manipulated, until his back is curved, his knees are bent, and his feet are up higher than his head, his chest pointed at the floor.

Gasps sound from the audience, but Kris barely hears them over the pounding of his own heart. "Oh, Mr. Park, that's _beautiful_ ," someone says.

"Thank you." Mr. Park comes back over to Kris's head, crouching down in front of him, close enough that Kris can make out his features through the lace. "Relax, Yifan. You are safe."

He holds Kris's face for a moment, petting his hair and stroking his cheek, and slowly, Kris un-tenses, letting his body relax against the ropes. The arch forced into his back gives his cramped abs a good stretch, which actually feels pretty nice, and though the ropes knotted around him do dig into his skin, his weight is very evenly distributed and no one place pinches or aches. His upper torso is flat, parallel with the ground, so he doesn't think there's a danger of him getting dizzy from blood rushing to his head.

Mr. Park thinks of everything.

"You're doing very well," Mr. Park tells him, "and you look incredible." He strokes his hands soothingly over Kris's shoulders. "You feel okay? Does anything hurt?"

Kris hums, his calm returning as he relaxes. "No, Mr. Park."

"Alright. We'll move on, then." He steps away, back towards the table with the ropes.

Completely helpless, Kris can do nothing but breathe and wait as Mr. Park adds another long rope's worth of wraps and knots to his body. His left leg bends, the ropes loosening, and then Mr. Park is tying his ankle to his thigh, binding his leg in the bent position with an entire column of knots. It's tight, immovable. Lay's slightly softer footsteps come around to his right side, and then Kris feels his right foot hauled up higher, forcing his back to arch even more, to another chorus of oohs and ahhs.

"Beautiful," Mr. Park murmurs. "Fuck, you're so gorgeous. Your waist looks so tiny like this." Warm hands span his arched back, sliding around to span his waist, then he kneads his hands into Kris's ass like a cat. It sends a jolt to his cock, which has been a little thick this entire time from the attention and the feeling of Mr. Park's hands.

He moans just slightly, and as if in response, Mr. Park kneels, sliding under Kris's suspended body. He reaches up and palms Kris's cock, rubbing with slow, smooth strokes. It's so unexpected, so rare for Mr. Park to touch him there, that Kris moans much louder, his cock immediately filling, hardening.

"That's better," Mr. Park says, and then he _kisses Kris's cock_ , an openmouthed, wet, hot kiss with a soft stroke of his tongue along the sensitive underside. Jerking, groaning in shock, Kris throbs stone-hard. He's _dreamed_ about Mr. Park's mouth on his cock, and to have it so suddenly, with no warning like that... _fuck_ , that's _so sexy_.

"Goddamn," someone in the room mutters. "Wouldn't mind sitting in that seat."

"I love a sub with a big cock," someone else purrs. The room chuckles, and Kris can't help but blush. He does alright, but Mr. Park is bigger.

"I do too," Mr. Park says cheekily. "Gives me more to play with." And then, to Kris's surprise, a rope wraps around his cock, over and over again, coiling up his shaft. Kris moans and squirms as the coils draw tighter, constricting him like a cock ring. His shaft is encased entirely, the rope knotted off just under the head and the end left as it is. The slight weight of the rope dangling from his cock adds just a little more pressure, and when Mr. Park gives it a light, teasing little tug, Kris moans like his world is coming apart, lightning streaking up his dick and stabbing into his spine.

A deep, aroused, breathy moan brushes past his ear. "I can't wait to fuck you," Mr. Park whispers, for Kris's ears only. "Soon. Just a few more adjustments."

His spine shuddering, Kris swallows and murmurs, "Yes, Mr. Park."

Lay hands Mr. Park more ropes, white ones this time. Mr. Park, still on the floor under Kris's body, knots the ropes into the harness he's built, tying them into Kris's chest, ribs, back, thighs. He gathers all the ends together and stands, moving out of Kris's view.

For a few moments, Kris just hangs there and waits. There's footsteps, movement, but he can't see, can't tell what's happening.

Then, the world spins.

His torso is hauled upright as his feet drop. There's a moment where he feels like he's dropping, and then the white ropes tied into his front engage, and he's laid out on his back. His feet dangle for a moment, but familiar, warm hands slide down his legs and adjust the ropes around his thighs, knees, calves, ankles. Then, his legs are pulled up and apart.

Kris comes to rest, hanging in the air in a sitting position, torso curved forward, his bound knee forced up to his chest, and ropes tugging his unbent leg out at an artistic angle. He feels like he should be pointing his toes or something.

The audience is loving it, but Kris pays little attention to them. Mr. Park is stepping between his thighs, and Kris realizes he's essentially been tied into a sex swing, his ass at just the right height and angle for Mr. Park to claim. And from the look in his eyes, that's precisely what he means to do.

But first, he takes the end of the rope wrapping around Kris's cock and loops it through one of the knots above his hips, pulling Kris's cock up until it stands straight in the air. He plucks at the rope, and Kris whines, writhing. Shit, he's so hard, his cockhead is turning purple.

"Mmmm." Mr. Park reaches into his pocket and comes out with a foil packet of lube. "Finally."

Kris would have thought that being tied up naked and fingered in a room full of strangers would be a mortifying experience, but frankly, the fact that he's being watched just makes him want to pose, to play up his reactions. And the audience is _very_ complimentary, so much so that Kris wonders if Mr. Park somehow told them to be flattering. Whether he did or didn't, though, the constant stream of low-voiced comments on his long, thin bodyline, his big cock, his handsomeness, his compliance, make his ego swell, his heart race.

Soon, though, Mr. Park is stretching him with four fingers, and Kris can't concentrate on posing any longer. He lets his head loll against one of the ropes hoisting his shoulders and watches Mr. Park's face with what is probably blatant adoration.

Mr. Park's expression is no less tender, though. And Kris loves that.

It's only the second time he's taken Mr. Park's cock, and it's a completely different experience. Mr. Park goes slower, thrusting in smoothly, centimeters at a time until he's completely seated. His hands are wrapped around Kris's hips, steadying him as he works himself in and out, waiting for Kris's insides to adjust to his considerable size. The drag of his cock over Kris's walls is gorgeous, and Kris can't help but be noisy about it, sighing and moaning.

Then, Mr. Park gives him a little push. Kris swings out and away, Mr. Park's cock sliding out of him until only the very tip is still inserted.

He swings back, yanked forward by Mr. Park, and _slams_ onto his cock, asscheeks hitting hips with a resounding _slap_. Kris cries out, his head falling back, as his prostate takes a direct hit and stars explode behind his eyes.

From that point, the onslaught is relentless, and Kris is senseless to anything but Mr. Park's hands on his body, his dick up his ass.

The harness of ropes has him both completely helpless and surprisingly mobile. It seems to be easy, so very easy, for Mr. Park to control how fast he swings, how hard he is fucked, at what angle. Soon, he starts playing with the rope attached to Kris's cock, too, tugging on it, and Kris is heaving gasping breaths, harder and more desperate to come than he has ever been, but the rope is stopping him, holding back his release.

A voice calls for Mr. Park to have mercy on Kris, to let him come. Then, another joins in. "Not until I say so," Mr. Park snaps at the nosy interlopers, and doubles his pace, pounding forcefully and possessively into Kris's ass with his fingers wound around the rope bindings for better control.

It hits the point where the sensation blurs into a greyed out mass, Kris's favorite part of every scene. He lets go, losing himself to it, nothing left but the friction and the weightlessness and the arousal and the beat.

With a deft motion, Mr. Park unknots the rope around Kris's cock. The coils slither away, caressing his straining shaft as they fall, and with a wild cry, Kris comes.

"Fuck," Mr. Park gasps. " _Yifan_." He slams in hard and immediately comes himself, curving over Kris's body with an iron grip on his hips.

They finish at the same time, sucking in deep breaths in unison. The room erupts into applause. Mr. Park just stands there, his chest heaving, staring right into Kris’s eyes from centimeters away. Kris stares back, grinning euphorically.

Eventually, Mr. Park pulls out, wipes off, zips up, and backs away.

The ropes come off, but the lace blindfold does not. Kris is senseless, sated, floating; he’s vaguely glad that his vision is blurred, vaguely thankful that he doesn’t have to be wrenched out of this perfect headspace by the sight of others. He almost doesn’t hear Mr. Park softly calling Baek back to them, and pries his eyes open enough to see the hazy impression of a large hand taking a somewhat wrinkled suit coat from the mouth of the dog mask.

“Up, Yifan,” Mr. Park commands quietly. Kris groans, but struggles to obey. His limbs feel jellylike and it takes Mr. Park’s help to get him to his feet. “There, good boy,” Mr. Park croons. “It’s not far, I promise.”

Any distance feels like a marathon, but Mr. Park’s arm is strong and supportive, half-carrying him through the room and out to the hallway. The sounds of the dance floor assault Kris, making him wince, but Mr. Park steers him away from the noise.

They head instead through a door at the end of the hall, into another hall. Mr. Park chooses a door and quickly scribbles something on the whiteboard hanging on it before they go inside.

This room is done in soft greens and golds, ostentatious and saturated even through the obscuring lace. The carpet feels incredibly plush under Kris’s bare feet, and he nearly collapses right there. Instead, Mr. Park guides him to a huge bed and helps him lay down, and as Kris snuggles happily into the soft sheets, Mr. Park gently pulls the blindfold off.

“How do you feel?” Mr. Park asks, and Baek climbs up onto the bed. His little puppy face is too precious; Kris reaches for him, humming a wordless answer to Mr. Park’s question. Immediately, Baek curls up in Kris’s arms, heedless of his nudity. He butts his head up against Kris’s chin, and Kris coos, petting the boy’s soft-skinned shoulders and fuzzy ears.

Mr. Park laughs. “You’re so clingy after a scene,” he murmurs, sounding fond as anything. “Alright, you two snuggle for a bit. I have one more thing for you tonight.”

More? But this has already been the longest, most intense evening of Kris’s life. He’s ready for _bed_.

He doesn’t have the energy to refuse, though, so he just lets Mr. Park roll him up onto his side, tucking a towel underneath him as Kris shamelessly uses the new position to drag his cuddlebuddy closer. Baek is all for this, whining and pawing at him and burrowing close, and Kris vaguely wishes that Baek wasn’t wearing the leather mask and paws because they’re the only things keeping Kris from being the most comfortable he’s been in months.

After a moment of quiet snuggling in which Kris nearly begins to doze off, a touch to his shoulder brings him back. “Don’t be startled,” Mr. Park whispers.

Deep, deep heat drips onto his shoulder, rolling down his back. It’s wax, but not nearly as hot as last time. There’s no burn, just warmth, falling in steady drops down his arm and side and making him shiver and moan appreciatively.

He twists his head and sees that Mr. Park is holding the candle up quite high, high enough that the stinging burn of the wax has cooled before it even hits Kris’s skin. Kris smiles at him helplessly, adoring him. Mr. Park’s returned smile is sweet and indulgent.

Kris rolls onto his front, exposing his back to Mr. Park, begging for more. Well, technically he rolls on top of Baek, who squirms a little before settling down, his fuzzy ears tickling Kris’s cheek.

The wax keeps coming, gentle drips and slow streams, coating his back in a deep, tension-releasing shell of heat. By the time Mr. Park blows the candle out, Kris is at least three-quarters of the way asleep.

“Baek,” Mr. Park calls softly, obviously trying not to disturb Kris. “Come here. It’s time for you to rest, too.”

Baek wiggles out of Kris’s arms, and Kris sleepily adjusts, turning his face towards Mr. Park. He watches blearily as Mr. Park carefully, gently pulls the plug from the base of Baek’s briefs, soothing him as the puppy-boy shudders in his arms. “You’ve had this in too long,” he admonishes in an undertone as he undoes Lay’s braided and knotted harness, rubbing at the marks left on Baek’s pale skin. “Ah, Baek, what am I going to do with you.”

Whining, Baek paws at him. Mr. Park catches his paws and starts unlacing them, pulling the leather mitts off to reveal delicate, long-fingered hands. “Don’t give me that. I forbade you from coming here alone for a _reason_.” He cups Baek’s head in his big hands and unlaces the back of the mask.

Sleepily, Kris muses that his initial impression of Baek’s heretofore hidden face was correct. He’s beautiful, dyed-red hair and soft, boyish features and exotically made-up eyes with those striking Husky-blue contacts. His lips are stretched around a small black rubber ball gag, which Mr. Park gently removes, kneading his thumb into Baek’s jaw muscles.

Baek wets his lips and looks down. “I’m sorry, Mr. Park,” he mutters. “I know better, I just… it hasn’t been… a good day.” Kris doesn’t know what he normally sounds like, but Baek’s voice seems choked up, strangled. Mr. Park clearly notices, because he tips Baek’s face up with his hands and studies him.

“What happened?” he asks quietly.

Baek tries to smile at him, and fails. “My fiancee, she… Well… she’s not my fiancee anymore, I guess.”

Surprise and horror flick across Mr. Park’s face, quickly covered and hidden. “Oh my God. I’m sorry, Baek.”

Carefully, Baek wipes under his eyes with the side of his finger, catching his eyeliner before it begins to run. “It’s okay, I’m… I’m gonna be okay. I cried myself out earlier.” Despite the assertion, Kris can see that Baek’s eyes are wet, and his heart constricts. Poor kid. “Coming here helped me calm down. I know I shouldn’t have, but…” He chuckles a little. “Dogs don’t have to worry about broken engagements, or… or broken hearts.”

Mr. Park rubs his shoulders, his sides, his thighs. He taps Baek’s leg, silently asking; Baek unfolds and lets Mr. Park take off his last restraints, the leather foot-paws. “You should have called me.”

“I did,” Baek murmurs. “But not until late. You must have already been on your way here. I can get into most of the gear myself, I just asked the lady at the desk to do up my paws.” Mr. Park’s face compresses, and Baek winces. “Sorry.”

A sigh. “Please promise me you’ll never come here without a Dom again, okay?”

“I went to Lay - ”

“Lay works for the club, Baek. He can’t devote the attention you need, and you know it. He’s too busy making sure nobody hangs themselves on the rig.”

Baek pouts. “I don’t have a Dom anymore,” he says. “You’re so busy these days.” Kris blinks, surprised. Is Mr. Park very busy? Well, he would never know, would he, since Kyungsoo schedules all his sessions for him.

Which gives him an idea. “Baek,” he croaks, his voice hoarse from disuse. They both look up, and Kris clears his throat and tries again, the sleepy fog in his mind lifting as the idea forms. “You need a new Dom?”

Hesitantly, curiously, Baek turns towards him. “Do you know one?” he asks.

Mr. Park realizes what Kris is thinking, and his eyes widen. “Yifan, I’m not sure your _boyfriend_ would appreciate you volunteering him to dominate someone else.”

“He volunteered _me_ to sub for _you_ , he can suck it up and deal,” Kris mumbles. He tries to sit up, but the shell of wax over his back pulls and cracks awkwardly, and he settles for folding his arms under his chin instead. Even just that motion causes shards of wax to break off him, raining onto the towel. “Anyway, it’s just a thought. He’s new, but, I don’t know, it doesn’t strike me that dominating you would be particularly stressful or complicated.”

Baek laughs. His smile is kind of square, but very bright and pretty. “It isn’t. Or, at least, I _think_ it isn’t. I just… like to be taken care of.” He crawls across the bed and kneels at Kris’s side. It’s a measure of how much Kris’s boundaries have relaxed that it doesn’t feel at all weird to be completely naked and covered in wax on a bed with a near-naked near-stranger. “I’m selfish, I guess.”

“Wanting simplicity, comfort and happiness is hardly selfish,” Mr. Park rumbles as he joins them on the bed. He starts to pick cooled wax from Kris’s skin, and Baek tentatively joins in. Kris’s eyes drift shut, enjoying the attention, the sensitivity of his skin and the satisfying feeling of the wax coming off.

“I think he’d be good at it,” Kris murmurs. “He’s new to being a Dom, but if you’re willing to be patient with him, I think you’d like him. And he’s good with dogs.”

Baek giggles, scratching lightly at Kris’s skin to get a stubborn piece off. Kris all but purrs, arching into it. “Are you sure you’d be okay with that?” Baek asks. “He’s your boyfriend.”

Kris shrugs, making more cracks snap into the wax. “I don’t want to sub for him,” he says honestly. “I really think we need to keep our personal relationship equal. But he wants to try being a Dom, and I’d rather his sub be someone I’ve at least met, rather than a total stranger, you know?”

“He’d probably be a sterner master than me, honestly,” Mr. Park says. “I indulge you too much. He’s less of a sucker for the big puppy-eyes.”

Baek looks intrigued. “You said he’s new?” he asks, and Kris nods. “Mr. Park, are you teaching him?”

“I’ve talked to him a little, but Suho’s actually giving him his first real lesson tonight.” Mr. Park glances at his watch, a heavy, silver, masculine thing. “They should be joining us any minute here, actually.”

As if summoned by the mention, there’s a crisp knock on the door. Kris is slightly startled to realize it’s Joonmyun’s knock, the same sharp double-tap he uses to get Kris’s attention at work.

Mr. Park stands, leans over, and grabs a blanket from the foot of the bed. He pulls it up over Kris’s naked ass and tucks it in around his waist. “Come in,” he calls, turning away.

Kris smiles helplessly, struck once again by Mr. Park’s thoughtfulness and attention. Baek shoots him an amused look, as if to say, _isn’t he wonderful?_ Kris agrees.

The four men file into the room, Joonmyun and Kyungsoo first with Kai and Hun following behind. The two subs are marked all to hell, striped with red across every available swath of bare skin, but they’re unchained now, holding hands, and grinning euphorically.

Kyungsoo comes straight for the bed. “Hi, babe,” he murmurs, taking in Kris’s boneless, wax-covered state, with a curious glance at Baek sitting next to him. He drops a soft, lingering kiss to Kris’s hair. “Have a good night?”

“Mmmmmm-hmm.” Kris arches and stretches dramatically, making his back crackle. “You?”

“Oh yes. Suho is a very… _thorough_ teacher.”

Grinning, Kris eyes Joonmyun, who looks quite amused by the entire situation. “Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me.”

“Hi,” Baek cuts in suddenly. “I’m Baek. Are you Yifan’s boyfriend?”

Kyungsoo eyes him. “I am. Why?”

The other two subs are approaching the bed now, their hands still linked even as they eye Kris and Baek curiously. Kris smiles and beckons them, which is all the permission they need to climb up onto the bed as well.

“Yifan said you’re a new Dom. Are you looking for a sub?” Baek is saying.

“Can we peel you too?” Hun asks in a stage-whisper. “I love peeling things.”

Kai slaps him. “Weirdo.” 

Laughing, Kris nods, and then there are two new sets of hands on him. He relaxes, going back to listening to Baek’s conversation with Kyungsoo, basking in the attention.

“I hadn’t decided if I was going to take on a sub myself, yet.” Kyungsoo raises an eyebrow. “I take it you’re in the market?”

A bright nod. “Single and available! Mr. Park can vouch for my pedigree.” He grins at his own joke.

Joining the subs on the bed, Mr. Park starts to run his hands through Kris’s hair, and ohhhhhhhhh that is _so_ nice. “He’s housebroken,” Mr. Park says dryly. “Or, well, mostly.”

“Oh, you’re the puppy, aren’t you?” Kyungsoo looks Baek up and down again, judging. Baek’s smile fades, and he sits up a little straighter. Kyungsoo has that effect on people. “Hrm. I’ll consider it.”

The only person not sitting or lying on the bed now is Joonmyun, leaning against the wall and watching them all silently. Kris suspects that he is the reason Joonmyun hasn’t approached, so he beckons him over as well. Joonmyun raises a questioning brow, but Kris just continues to beckon. By this point, he couldn’t care less about his nudity, and the embarrassing submissive bit is over.

Joonmyun comes over and crouches by the head of the bed. As if sensing that this conversation is to be private, Kai engages Hun, Baek and Kyungsoo in a discussion of the night’s adventures, leaving Mr. Park watching over Kris as Joonmyun says, “I hope I didn’t startle you too badly tonight, sir.”

Sir. It feels weird to be called that when Mr. Park is right there, but Joonmyun knows not to use his everyday name, and it feels weird to hear him say _Yifan_. “It’s fine,” Kris says. “You couldn’t have known, and neither could I. Thank you for taking my little newbie Dom under your wing.”

“It was my pleasure,” Joonmyun says sincerely. “We talked a little, while the boys were recovering. Forgive me for saying so, but you two are very lucky. He adores you.”

Kris glances over his shoulder, where Kyungsoo is quietly, subconsciously making all three subs shut up just to listen to him. “I adore him, too. Thanks.”

“I think this goes without saying, but your secret is safe with me, sir.”

“Ha.” Kris grins at him. “You already know all my other secrets, what’s one more? And of course, it goes the other way. My lips are sealed.”

A smile, and a nod, and Joonmyun stands. “Let’s get moving, boys,” he says. “Baek, are you okay to drive home?” Baek nods. “Good, then you should get going too. Let’s leave them to clean up.”

There’s a flurry of goodbyes, and Kris doesn’t miss the way Sehun’s cheeks pink when Kyungsoo squeezes his shoulder and thanks him. He’s picked up another admirer tonight, it seems.

The room is a lot quieter with just the three of them.

Kyungsoo asks about Kris’s night, and slowly, Kris narrates, as they finish peeling and scratching the worst of the wax off his skin. Mr. Park helps him up, rubbing his shoulders and arms, and finally takes the cuffs off him, signaling the end of their play session.

“I don’t want to talk too much about the boys,” Kyungsoo says as Kris pulls his jeans back on. “Confidentiality and all. But I just have to say that Hun has the highest pain tolerance of anyone I’ve ever met. I was frikkin impressed.”

Mr. Park snorts. “Yeah, the boys came to me once, and I tried to find Hun’s limit. I chickened out before he did, let me tell you.” He leads them both through the door, pausing to wipe his name off the whiteboard. “Did they tell you that they’re…”

“Together? Yeah. Basically the most adorable thing. I had to hold back a coo.”

Nodding, Mr. Park says, “Kai keeps Hun from going too far over. They’re a good pair.” He slides his arms around their shoulders. “I’d say tonight was a success.” The club is still crowded as they walk through the dance floor, but the crowds part easily for them - or more likely, for Mr. Park.

“I think so too,” Kris says as they duck back into the locker rooms. Mr. Park retrieves Kris’s shirt and shoes from the locker, pocketing his padlock. “I was nervous, but the scene was really good, actually, and it was interesting to get to see how other people play. And to hang out with other subs.”

“Oh my God.” Mr. Park puts a hand over his heart in mock-distress as they walk out through the lobby. “That puppy pile was the absolute cutest thing I have seen in my entire life. Warmed the cockles of my cold, grey heart.”

As they reach Mr. Park’s car, Kris gives him an incredulous look over the roof. “You’re hardly cold-hearted. You are literally the kindest person I have ever known,” he says.

Mr. Park stares for a moment, then ducks his head and smiles. “Don’t tell anyone,” he teases. “I have an image to maintain.”

They get in, and head home.

 

~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~

 

True to his word, Joonmyun is nothing but perfectly professional at work on Monday, not even a tiny hint of what he now knows about Kris’s private life.

Kris does him the same courtesy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [come talk to me!](http://ask.fm/unnie_bee)


	8. Chapter 8

"Are you sure you're going to be okay?"

"Soo," Kris mutters, "I have a bug. I'm not _dying_."

Kyungsoo, standing at the door dressed in black leather and green silk, gives him a look. "You cancelled an appointment with Mr. Park. I pretty much assume you wouldn't cancel on Mr. Park unless you _were_ dying." His incredulous expression softens. "Seriously, I don't have to go out tonight. If you need me to stay..."

This is ridiculous. "Kyungsoo, it's your first playdate."

"Baek would understand, you know he would."

"I'm not gonna do that to him. I will be _fine_. I promise." Shifting, Kris cuddles further under the blankets on the couch. "I'm probably just going to watch movies and fall asleep."

Kyungsoo gives him another look, and a number of common sense admonishments - drink your water, stay warm, call me if you need me - but then he finally leaves, and Kris settles down for a night of television and feeling sorry for himself.

He's nearly half an episode into some mindless drama when the doorbell rings. Groaning, Kris hauls himself off the couch, prepared to glare frightfully at whomever is disturbing his sickbed rest.

His glare lasts about .03 seconds, because of all people, Mr. Park is on the other side of the door. "Hi," he says, flashing a smile. "I heard you weren't feeling well."

Kris leans against the door frame, looking at Mr. Park in disbelief. "So you... decided to check on me?"

"Well, you see, I find myself suddenly in possession of a free evening, since my appointment cancelled on me."

Oh. "Sorry," Kris mumbles.

"That was a joke, Yifan." Mr. Park cups Kris's cheek. His hand doesn't feel anywhere near as warm as it usually does, which probably means Kris is burning up. "Can I come in?"

Rather than answer verbally, Kris just gestures. Mr. Park enters, and the door shuts behind him. "Sorry," he says again, for some reason. "I'm a bit... um. Foggy. Tonight."

"You look like you're about to fall over," Mr. Park says softly. "Go sit down, I'll be right there."

Kris does as he's told, flopping back onto the couch. Why is Mr. Park here? Did Kyungsoo ask him to come over? Kris hopes not, because that feels like a terrible imposition and he would be completely embarrassed.

“Have you eaten? Are you hungry?”

Craning his neck to look over the back of the couch, Kris watches Mr. Park make himself at home in Kris’s kitchen. It’s really, really strange. “No, and not really. Sir,” he adds as an afterthought.

Mr. Park rolls up his sleeves. He’s in jeans and that grey cable-knit sweater again, effortlessly handsome. “You should eat something. I brought you soup.”

That makes Kris sit up straighter. “You… you _brought me soup?_ ”

A quirk of a smile, dimpled at the edges. “It’s my job to take care of you, isn’t it? I’ll just heat it up for you. Relax, Yifan.”

Kris watches him for a second in disbelief, but he really is exhausted, so after a moment he collapses back into the couch. 

_It’s my job_. Kris wonders if Kyungsoo is paying him for this. They’d agreed long ago that Kyungsoo would handle Mr. Park’s fees, so that the illusion isn’t broken for Kris, but every once in a while Kris remembers that Mr. Park is paid to treat him this way and it kind of breaks his brain. Usually, he forces himself not to think about it, not to wonder how Mr. Park actually feels about him, what he thinks of him. Mr. Park never judges, but there’s a little part of Kris that wonders if it’s an act, if secretly Mr. Park finds his submission pitiful, or worse, hilarious.

But then, he does shit like this, and Kris is back to having no fucking clue. Everything he does seems so genuine - is it all an act? Is _any_ of it an act? If it is, he’s the best fucking actor Kris has ever seen.

And it doesn’t seem particularly likely that Kyungsoo would _pay_ Mr. Park to babysit Kris’s sick ass. But if not, then… why is he here?

He’s not sure if he should ask. There’s no cuffs on his wrists, but Mr. Park’s presence alone makes him want to be quieter, better behaved. He was told to relax, so he does his best to comply, going back to his silly drama and pretending he’s not hyper-aware of every sound coming from the kitchen.

In a few minutes, Mr. Park is setting down a bowl and a fresh glass of water. He flashes Kris a smile, then goes back to the kitchen. Kris hears the sound of the sink running, and realizes Mr. Park is doing the dishes.

Fucking _surreal_.

The soup is warm and flavorful and really surprisingly good, and Kris realizes he is, in fact, quite hungry. He’s halfway through the bowl by the time Mr. Park comes to join him on the couch.

“Oh, I’ve seen this drama,” Mr. Park says conversationally as he makes himself right at home at Kris’s side. “Good choice.”

Unsure what to even say to that, Kris keeps eating his soup. Mr. Park leans back, his long arms spreading across the back of the couch.

The silence is unbearably awkward, so Kris clears his throat and breaks it. “This is really good,” he says softly. “Where did you get it from?”

“Oh, that? I made it yesterday. Had some left over, so I figured, why not?” He flashes Kris another smile, and Kris gapes at him. “Bet you never guessed I could cook, huh?”

Mr. Park’s home-cooked soup. Suddenly, Kris feels even warmer. “I never thought about it,” he says truthfully. “I’m a terrible cook, myself. But Kyungsoo is good.” He almost says, _maybe you should trade recipes_ , but the very idea is so fucking bizarre that the words die on his tongue.

Fingers card through his hair. “I’m glad you like it,” Mr. Park says.

They go back to watching the drama. Kris finishes the soup, and immediately after he sets the bowl down, Mr. Park tugs him back until he’s curled up against Mr. Park’s side, his head resting on Mr. Park’s chest and Mr. Park’s arm warm around him. They fit together surprisingly well, and it’s so comfortable, and Kris can’t help it, he lets out a long, contented sigh.

Mr. Park gives him a squeeze. “Rest, baby.”

Kris doesn’t see much of the rest of the episode, or any of the next. He’s too busy tracing out the patterns of Mr. Park’s sweater and making purring noises under his breath when Mr. Park strokes his head or his side. Vaguely, he knows that he still doesn’t feel well, that he’s headachey and foggy and exhausted, but those feelings pale against the feeling of Mr. Park petting him.

At the end of the episode, Mr. Park gets up and takes the finished bowl to the kitchen, grabbing Kris’s water glass as he goes. After washing the bowl, he comes back and sets the refilled glass on the table.

Incredulous, Kris looks up at him. “You know, I’m pretty sure this is verging on boyfriend-level,” he says. Sitting again on the couch, Mr. Park gives him a confused look, so he clarifies. “When we first negotiated, you said you weren’t gonna be my boyfriend, or even try to be. But all this… You act like a lot more than a paid Dom.”

Mr. Park freezes, studying Kris’s face. After a moment, he abruptly stands.

“You’re right,” he mutters, and, wait, shit, no, has Kris actually _upset_ him? “I didn’t realize… I’m sorry, Yifan. This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come over.”

He moves to leave, but Kris reaches up and catches his hand. “Don’t go,” he begs breathlessly. “It wasn’t a mistake, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Slowly, Mr, Park sits back down, but his face is compressed unhappily. “I didn’t even think about it, I just - with our relationship, you might not even have felt like you _were allowed_ turn me away, even if you wanted to, shit, I didn’t even realize.” He drags a square hand down his face. “I know better than this, I swear.”

“You really did come over _just_ because you were worried about me,” Kris realizes. There’s something bubbling up in his chest, a feeling he refuses to name.

Mr. Park nods. “Stupid,” he mutters. “You’re a grown adult, in a happy and loving relationship. You don’t need me to baby you.”

“Yes, I do,” Kris says immediately. “Or. Well. Maybe I don’t _need_ you to. But I _want_ you too.” He slides to the ground, kneeling at Mr. Park’s feet, his heart racing as Mr. Park’s eyes widen. “I think I’m ready, Mr. Park. Can I be yours?”

Clearly, Mr. Park is shocked by this sudden request, but his hand comes up to cup Kris’s jaw anyway, rubbing his thumb over Kris’s cheek. “You’re asking to be my sub full-time?” Kris nods. “Yifan, have you talked to Kyungsoo about this?

“I have,” Kris assures him. “He said it was up to me. So long as I still made time to see him, he said it was fine. That he trusts you.”

Leaning down, Mr. Park presses a soft, lingering kiss to Kris’s forehead, and Kris doesn’t bother trying to hold back his sigh of pleasure. “I’m honored, Yifan. But please forgive me if I don’t accept your offer right this moment. It’s not a no,” he says quickly as Kris opens his mouth to protest. “There is nothing I would like more than to be entrusted with your care. But you’re sick, and emotional, and possibly medicated. I will ask you again later, when you are feeling better, and Kyungsoo is with us. Okay?” He smiles, and Kris pouts but accepts. “It will give you the opportunity to change your mind.”

He offers a hand, and Kris lets himself be pulled back up onto the couch and into Mr. Park’s arms.

“I’m not going to change my mind,” he says.

“We’ll see,” Mr. Park replies, as he starts the next episode.

 

~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~

 

Kris does not, in fact, change his mind, and the next time they see Mr. Park, the three of them negotiate the limitations of Kris’s status as Mr. Park’s sub.

For the first time, Kris gets Mr. Park’s phone number. It’s agreed that there will be no voice calls between them unless specific permission is requested, but any texting or voicemail messages are fair game. They’ll be seeing each other outside of the playroom, as well. Kris asks about his cuffs and is assured that they will still be used whenever possible, but a scene can begin without them now.

Kyungsoo’s role becomes less involved, and more involved. He gives Mr. Park permission to contact Kris without his knowledge, permission to start a scene without discussing it with Kyungsoo first, permission, basically, to enter into a relationship with Kris that is entirely separate and distinct from Kyungsoo’s own. At the same time, though, Kyungsoo is a little nervous about being Baek’s Dom, and asks Mr. Park to continue to help him. Kris gives him permission to contact Mr. Park for his own purposes, to spend time with him without Kris’s presence or knowledge. (He also agrees to pass Kyungsoo’s number to Joonmyun, for the same reason.) And it is agreed that Kyungsoo will still participate in Kris’s scenes sometimes.

Mr. Park comments that it’s his most unusual arrangement to date, but he’s smiling. All of them are eager to try it, to make it work. In that spirit, Kyungsoo bids them good afternoon and leaves Kris alone, with Mr. Park, in a public coffee shop.

“There’s one more thing,” Mr. Park says. “You’re mine now, so I require you to bear a symbol of my ownership. I’ve made an appointment at my favorite salon. We’re getting your hair dyed.”

Kris blinks. “Now?” His hand goes up to his soft black hair. He had it dyed blond when he was younger, but when he took over the label he went back to black in the hopes of being taken more seriously despite his relative youth.

“Kyungsoo assures me there’s no reason in your personal or professional life that you can’t dye it, so yes. Now.” Mr. Park flashes a smile. “I can’t wait. I think you’re going to look fantastic.”

There isn’t much Kris can say to that, so he follows Mr. Park out to the lot and gets in his car, nerves fluttering in his chest. He trusts that Mr. Park wouldn’t do anything that would truly embarrass him, and Kyungsoo has apparently vetted the plan already, but he can’t help but be nervous anyway. It’s his _hair_. He works in _fashion_.

When they arrive at the salon, Kris relaxes a little. Mr. Park’s favorite salon is both on the other side of the city from his usual neighborhood, and also very high-end. There’s basically no chance a place like this will screw up his hair, so he lets out a long breath and follows demurely behind Mr. Park as they enter. There’s no cuffs, this isn’t a scene, but the way Mr. Park keeps guiding him and subtly giving him orders has him drifting towards subspace anyway.

The stylists all know Mr. Park. Obviously, this is where he goes to get his own hair done, and judging from the comments, he’s brought other subs here too.

“Sunyeong is in the scene,” Mr. Park murmurs as a petite woman with chin-length cropped hair leads them to a station. “She knows about me, and why you’re here. We can speak freely in front of her.”

That doesn’t mean they go into a full-blown scene right in the middle of the salon, but it does mean that the stylist doesn’t bat an eye when Kris reflexively calls Mr. Park _sir_ , or when Mr. Park pats his knee and calls him _babydoll_.

Kris has a headful of processing bleach when Mr. Park pulls out his phone, saying, “Oh, I meant to show you. Lay sent me pictures from the other night.” He pulls something up, and before Kris has fully processed the implications, turns the phone towards Kris.

It’s a photo of himself, naked and trussed up in black, red and white ropes. Kris’s first instinct is to push it away, to hide it from the stylist’s view, but he squashes the urge. Instead, he actually looks.

The shot is nice, for a cell phone photo. The angle is such that his crotch is fig-leafed artistically by his thigh, and the soft lighting of the club is flattering. He looks long and lean and beautifully arched, the placement of the ropes emphasizing his body in a way that makes him seem somehow masculine and completely helpless at the same time.

Kris blinks. “Wow.”

Mr. Park grins. “Gorgeous, aren’t you?” He turns the phone towards the stylist. “Isn’t he?”

Kris’s face goes bright red, but the stylist looks impressed. “Oh, that’s lovely,” she coos. In the mirror, her smile is sharp, and Kris gets the distinct impression that Sunyeong is a Domme. It makes him instinctively drop his gaze, no longer feeling like he has the right to meet her eyes.

Squeezing Kris’s knee, Mr. Park re-locks and pockets his phone. “I have a few more of those,” he murmurs. “I’ll send them to you later.”

“It’s time to wash the bleach out,” Sunyeong says. “Come.”

Oh yeah, she’s totally a Domme. With a glance at Mr. Park to confirm, Kris follows her orders.

The rest of the conversation is between Sunyeong and Mr. Park, washing over Kris’s head. He listens with half his attention, the rest of it sliding deeper into subspace from the feeling of fingers in his hair.

Finally, Kris is done, and Mr. Park touches under his chin, urging him to lift his head and look.

It’s silver.

Instantly, Kris gets it. Mr. Park’s deep silver hair is more than a fashion statement, it’s a symbol. His trademark. And now, he’s put his mark on Kris, in a way that’s permanent enough that he must wear it all the time, but not irreversible.

And it really does look good. It’s not the same deep purple-grey that Mr. Park’s is, it’s lighter, a very pale moonlight silver. The hue is very in-style, and goes well with his skin tone.

Most people would just think it was a fashion choice, but to anyone on the scene, it would be an obvious mark of ownership. Everyone who sees them together will know that Kris belongs to Mr. Park.

“I love it,” Kris breathes.

Mr. Park smiles, and Kris cannot help but to smile back.

 

~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~

 

It doesn't occur to Kris that Joonmyun is on the scene, and thus would know exactly what his new hair color means, until he walks in to work the next day and Joonmyun does a double take.

Kris feels a flush bloom in his cheeks, but he keeps his face expressionless, nodding his usual greeting and taking his coffee from Joonmyun’s hand as he heads into his office. As always, there’s an email waiting for him from Joonmyun summarizing the day ahead of him, and as always, Kris is thankful for how much his administrative assistant does for him.

Lots of people comment on his hair. Everyone thinks it looks great. Joonmyun doesn’t mention it, though, not until the end of the day when he comes in to find Kris staring at his phone and wondering if he’s got the guts to text Mr. Park.

“Nice hair,” he says softly, and his tone makes Kris instantly look up. Joonmyun’s smile is very un-Joonmyun-like. “You two made it official, then?” Kris nods, a smile tugging at his mouth. “That’s great. Good luck, seriously. I think you guys are great together.”

They’ve never, ever talked about this, and Kris can’t help but to jump on the opportunity. “Have you known him for a long time?” he asks.

“Mr. Park? Yeah. We joined the scene around the same time.” Joonmyun smiles, his eyes unfocusing, like he’s watching the memory in his mind. “We were both a mess,” he says with a laugh. “Kids with no clue what we were doing. You know, at first he was a sub? Didn’t last long, though.”

Kris tries to imagine Mr. Park as a young, brand-new submissive, and utterly fails. The very idea makes his mind twist up in confused knots. “He _wanted_ to be a sub?”

“Don’t really know. I think maybe he just wanted to try something new? He really was just a kid, we both were. This was… I don’t know, six or seven years ago maybe. He’s been on the scene a long time.” Joonmyun shrugs. “Once he tried domming, he never went back. He’s practically a local legend.”

It shouldn’t make Kris feel proud, but it does. “How many full-time subs has he had, do you know?”

Joonmyun laughs. “I didn’t keep track, and even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you. He only ever has one at a time, though, so that hair color means you’re it. You’re the focus of his attention now.” His eyes flash with wicked humor. “That should be fun.”

Kris bites his lip. “He didn’t contact me today,” he admits. “I thought that he would, but he hasn’t.”

Patting his shoulder, Joonmyun says, “Don’t worry. He will.”

 

~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~

 

Joonmyun isn’t wrong, but the first text doesn’t come until that night.

_Mr. Park (8:56PM)_  
_You will wear your harness tomorrow._

That’s it. That’s all it says. It’s only a few words but they hit Kris so hard, he has to sit down.

Kyungsoo looks over, sees Kris sprawled inelegantly half-on the arm of the couch and staring at his phone in his hand, and immediately bursts out laughing. “I take it he finally contacted you?”

Kris looks up at him, dazed. “I’m not going to survive this,” he says.

Ambling over, Kyungsoo looks over his shoulder and reads the text. “Ooh. Starting strong, I see. Well, good.” His smile flashes. “It’ll give you something else to think about during the day that’s not working yourself to death.”

 

~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~

 

As it turns out, the leather harness under his shirt is practically _all_ Kris can think about, all day.

It’s not readily visible. He’s purposely worn a dark, eggplant-purple shirt with a deep charcoal suit and a silver tie, and all of the above disguise the leather from view. Kris can feel it though. He can feel the leather shift against his skin, feel the metal rings pressing into his shoulders when he reaches forward. There’s a little creak of leather when he moves, and he’s pretty sure no one can hear it but him, but he’s not _positive_ and it has him on edge all day long.

Around noon, he gets another text.

_Mr. Park (12:02PM)_  
_Show me the harness._

Opening his shirt and carefully positioning himself for the sexiest, most suggestive photo he can manage while _sitting at his desk_ is possibly the most illicit-feeling thing he’s ever done. He’s hyper-aware of the threat that one of his subordinates could walk in at any moment, his heart pounding in his ears whenever he hears footsteps or voices in the hall outside his office. But this is the first thing Mr. Park has asked of him, so he takes the time to do it right. He scoots his chair back towards the windows to get good natural lighting, he debates for a while over how much chest to expose, whether or not to leave his hand in the shot, whether or not to crop his face out. In the end, the photo he sends is unfiltered, but carefully cropped, showing long fingers dressed in heavy, fashionable rings pulling aside the collar of the purple shirt to expose a big chunk of chest and collarbone, leather straps and silver buckles, the side of his neck, his jawline, and his gently parted lips, all against the black backdrop of his expensive leather desk chair.

He’s not a fashion professional for nothing.

Quickly putting his clothes back together, Kris rolls the chair forward again and tries to pretend everything is normal, everything is fine. He’s swollen hard in his suit pants, but his jacket is long enough to cover it if necessary.

He’s just in time. There’s a knock at his door, and then before Kris can even answer, it opens. It’s Luhan, the recently-promoted head of the design department. Sitting through Luhan’s questions about Kris’s feedback on his team’s designs is excruciating. He’s hard and antsy and nervously anticipating Mr. Park’s response, but he does his best to focus.

His focus is shot to hell when he feels his phone vibrating in his pocket. The short double-buzz of a text message, first, and then a minute or so later, the long, repeated buzzing of a call.

Kris’s pulse triples. He knows he doesn’t have to answer it - isn’t _supposed_ to answer it. Unless he explicitly tells Mr. Park that he is free to take a call, he’s only supposed to let it go to voicemail.

So that’s what he does, and an eternity later when Luhan finally leaves, he can barely wait until the door shuts before he pulls his phone out. Sure enough, there’s a text message and a missed call.

_Mr. Park (12:10PM)_  
_Look what you’ve done._

The four simple words are accompanied by a photo of a big, square hand wrapped around a big, hard cock through grey suit pants. Kris sucks in a breath and holds it, staring wide-eyed at the photo. He would know that hand, that cock, anywhere.

Did he really cause that? Just now? Just with a photo of his chest and neck and a leather harness under his pressed, fashionable suit? It’s possible that the photo was taken another time, but Kris chooses to ignore that. He wants to believe he really did make Mr. Park raging hard with a simple, teasing photo.

He also really, _really_ wants to know what’s on that voicemail.

Preemptively, Kris gets up and sticks his head out his office door. “I have to make a call,” he tells Joonmyun, trying to keep his tone crisp and professional. Of anyone, Joon is the most likely to guess that something is up, but Kris doesn’t want to tell him. Not now, not about this.

Joonmyun nods, distracted with whatever he’s doing on his computer. “I’ll take messages,” he says.

“Thanks.” Kris closes and locks his office door. He’s dialing voicemail and pressing the phone to his ear before he gets back to his desk, eager to hear Mr. Park’s voice.

He isn’t disappointed. Immediately after the mechanical female voice telling him the date and time of the message, his ear is filled with low grunts and deep moans and the sound of skin on slick skin.

Kris tries to shove his knuckle in his mouth and push down on his suddenly throbbing cock at the same time, but he only has two hands and one of them is holding the phone to his ear. He settles for biting his lip instead, choosing to use his hand to relieve the pressure in his cock as he listens avidly to Mr. Park jerking off.

 _“Fuck, I love seeing you in that,”_ Mr. Park breathes, directly into Kris’s ear. _“Wearing my ownership so close to your heart. Where no one can see it, but you know it’s there, and so do I, Yifan. You’re mine.”_ He moans again, and Kris has to bite down harder to keep from echoing the moan. Shit, how the hell does he make that sound so powerful and possessive? When Kris moans, he sounds like a needy, whiny child.

 _“The next time I see you,”_ Mr. Park whispers hotly, _“I am going to fuck you. I am going to push you down on your hands and knees and ram your hot little ass, and I am going to use that harness to pull you back onto my cock. Would you like that, Yifan?”_ Kris does whimper aloud at that, his cock jerking helplessly. _“You had better like it. You don’t get a choice.”_

That’s not true, and Kris knows it. He has a safe word, and though he’s still never had to use it, he trusts that if he did, Mr. Park would stop everything. But the illusion that he’s owned, controlled, that Mr. Park has the right to treat him however he likes and Kris can’t do a thing about it thrills him far, far more than he ever expected it would.

 _“Show me how much you want it, Yifan,”_ Mr. Park is saying, a deep-voiced command that slides down his spine. _“Show me what the thought of my cock in your ass does to you.”_

It’s an open-ended request. A test, maybe. Kris immediately has a dozen thoughts, a dozen possibilities of what he could do to respond. But Mr. Park is still gasping and grunting in his ear, the beat of his hand speeding in the background, a wet, thick _slap slap slap_ that makes Kris squirm desperately in his chair.

Hearing that, it’s far too easy to imagine Mr. Park fucking him. Hearing that, there’s only one way Kris can respond.

Hurriedly, he unbuttons his shirt, opens his belt, pulls out his cock. Mr. Park is close to coming, he can hear it, and he swiftly arranges himself as he listens, committing the sound of Mr. Park’s moans to memory.

Mr. Park comes, a long groan broken slightly into pulses that trails off into a rumbling purr. _“I can’t wait to see you again,”_ Mr. Park whispers, and the message ends.

Immediately, before his raging, pulsing erection has even the slightest chance to calm down, Kris switches to the camera and holds it above himself. Already he’s so close, holding his orgasm back with a death grip, so he makes sure the shot is good first. He’s slouched low in his desk chair, turned towards the windows so a beam of sunlight falls across his bared torso, his exposed cock, glinting off the rings and buckles of his harness. He turns on the camera and starts to stroke.

It’s over fast. Kris tries to pose, to make it as good as he can, but he’s so turned on he can barely do more than bite at his lips and frantically fuck his own fist. He comes within a minute, exploding over his bared skin, fighting to keep his camera hand steady as he writhes with the intensity of it.

When he finally calms, he turns the camera up to his face and lets Mr. Park see his satiated satisfaction.

“I want you to fuck me,” he admits in a whisper. “I want it _so_ bad. Please, Mr. Park, can I see you tonight? Please?”

He stops the recording, and before he can think the better of it, he sends it. While it’s uploading, he cleans himself off, turns on his desk fan to get rid of any lingering semen smell, and puts his clothes back together.

It takes a full half an hour before there’s a response.

_Mr. Park (12:58PM)_  
_7 @ the playroom. Don’t you dare be late._

 

~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~

 

Kris is the most on time he’s ever been, and he’s not disappointed. Mr. Park opens the door, drags him inside, and throws him roughly to the carpet. They don’t even make it all the way to the playroom - Kris barely has a chance to kick his shoes off before Mr. Park is on him, right there in the front room.

“You fucking little tease,” Mr. Park snarls. His cock is already pushing against Kris’s ass; Kris whimpers needily and hurries to unbutton his shirt. “You’re _such_ a little shit. You were at work, weren’t you? Jerking off in broad fucking daylight, God, _Yifan_.” His entire body shudders.

“I couldn’t stop myself,” Kris gasps, and it’s mostly true. He also wanted to elicit a reaction, and man oh man, he is not sorry that he did. “Your voice, I had to, I was so _hard_ , Mr. Park _please_ \- ” His shirt unbuttoned, he rears up to get it off, only to find big, hot hands already stripping it away. Mr. Park tosses his shirt aside and rips his trousers open and fucking hell, he’s _never_ acted this desperate and Kris loves every second of it.

Force on his back pushes him down again, and Kris gets comfortable, spreading his hands and knees for balance. Mr. Park stops, and Kris ducks his head, knowing what Mr. Park just saw.

“You fucking prepared yourself?” Mr. Park asks incredulously. “You were that fucking eager for my cock? Jesus, what a fucking _slut_.” He sounds awed. “What a _needy_ little bottom _bitch. Fuck._ ”

The words are insulting, but Mr. Park’s tone sounds anything but derogatory. He sounds completely enamored, and Kris’s heart swells with it. Mr. Park can say what he likes, but Kris knows he loves seeing Kris this way, and Kris loves to be this for him. Loves being Mr. Park’s needy little slut.

It’s not something he’s ever wanted before.

“Please,” he begs, dropping to his elbows, and then further, so his shoulders are pressed to the carpet. He’s never acted this wanton in his life and it’s surprisingly freeing. “Fuck me, fuck me, please Mr. Park _please_ -”

With a wordless, mindless snarl, Mr. Park rips his own fly open and shoves his cock unceremoniously into Kris’s loosened, lubed hole. True to his word, he reaches forward and wraps his hand around the leather straps of Kris’s harness, yanking him backwards roughly. Kris chokes on his own moan and goes limp, allowing himself to be used.

It’s absolutely the fastest sex they’ve ever had. Mr. Park’s got crazy strong stamina, but even so, he’s pumping so fast and so violent that it takes only a few minutes for him to come, roaring into Kris’s shoulder with his teeth dug into Kris’s skin.

Mr. Park stills, but Kris is shaking from overstimulation, hard as a rock and desperate to come. He whines, shifting onto one elbow so he can reach a hand down and fist himself - but Mr. Park stops him, grabbing his wrist before he can.

“No,” he says firmly. “You don’t get to come tonight.”

Shocked, Kris looks back over his shoulder. The edge of needy insanity is gone from Mr. Park’s eyes, leaving a knowing, calculated coolness behind.

“But -”

“Shut up.” Kris shuts up. “I’ve been way too easy on you, Yifan, you’re getting spoiled. You don’t come tonight. As a matter of fact, you are not to come until I tell you you can. No matter how long that takes.”

Kris’s eyes widen, but Mr. Park’s voice and face indicate he’s not getting a say in this. “...Yes, Mr. Park.”

“Good boy. I appreciate your enthusiasm, but you need to learn a little discipline.” Mr. Park presses a kiss to the back of Kris’s neck. “Now get out of here. I have an appointment in thirty minutes.”

Wait, what? Really? Kris is torn between dejection, and the thrill of knowing Mr. Park risked his appointment with another sub just to fuck Kris. Mr. Park sees his expression and kisses him again, on the lips this time, possessive and reassuring.

“Go on,” he murmurs. “And remember, no orgasms. I _will_ find out if you disobey me.”

Kris isn’t sure why, but he believes Mr. Park. “Yes, sir,” he murmurs.

The drive home is awkward and uncomfortable, Kris still totally hard and worried that his assful of Mr. Park’s come is going to leak through his clothes and stain his car seat before he can get home and shower. It’s both humiliating and exciting, and he’s absolutely certain Mr. Park did it on purpose.

He might not survive this.

 

~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~

 

It’s days before Mr. Park gives him permission to come, and when he gets it, it’s first thing in the morning and Kris is literally sitting in the car in the middle of his morning commute traffic.

The text alone makes him instantly hard. Traffic is at a standstill anyway, so Kris jerks off right there, getting high off the thought that someone might glance over and realize what he’s doing. He comes all over his shirt, pathetically quickly.

He takes a picture of the mess he’s made and sends it to Mr. Park, with a heartfelt _thank you_.

His jacket covers the stain until he can get to his office and the spare shirt he keeps there. If Joonmyun notices he’s a little more disheveled and breathless than usual, he doesn’t say anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [come talk to me!](http://ask.fm/unnie_bee)


	9. Chapter 9

For two weeks, Kris gets used to Mr. Park being a constant presence in his life. There are normal, in-person play sessions, of course, but they also text every day, send each other photos and videos and voice messages. Mr. Park is always giving him orders, and Kris follows them eagerly, knowing no matter how ridiculous or scary they might be, in the end Mr. Park will make it worth it.

Friday night two weeks in, Kris is looking forward to date night with Kyungsoo. He feels like they haven’t seen each other in ages, that they’ll have a lot to talk about, and he’s more excited to see his boyfriend than he has been in a good long while.

He’s not expecting Kyungsoo to hand him a package when he gets home. “This is for you,” he says, and there’s a twinkle in his eye.

The package is addressed to Yifan. Just Yifan, no surname.

Kris rips it open.

Inside is a clothing box and a letter. _We’re going out tomorrow,_ Mr. Park writes, his handwriting large and loopy and clear. _Wear this and be ready at 2 PM. I’ll pick you up. Don’t worry, I’ve cleared your schedule._

His schedule. Shit, he has a meeting with a potential investor tomorrow!

But when Kris opens his email to check his work calendar, he finds a notice that the meeting has been moved to Monday. _Who has meetings on Saturday anyway,_ Joonmyun has noted. _Have fun, sir._

He should be used to Mr. Park making him feel this way, but every time a new boundary is crossed, Kris’s heart starts pounding all over again. “Did you know about this?” Kris demands.

Kyungsoo sticks his head out of the bathroom, where he’s in the process of styling his hair. “No. Should I have?”

Narrowing his eyes, Kris asks, “Really? Mr. Park didn’t check with you first?”

“Isn’t that the point of the arrangement?” Kyungsoo replies, going back to his hair. “He mentioned he had something planned when I saw him yesterday, but he didn’t say what.”

 _When I saw him yesterday._ Kris can’t help but to ask. “You saw him yesterday?”

“Yeah, he met me for lunch. I wanted to pick his brain.” Kyungsoo comes out of the bathroom, wiping product from his hands with a towel. “He also kissed me goodbye, if that interests you.”

It does. It _really_ does. “You should have sent me a picture,” Kris pouts.

Kyungsoo’s grin widens. “Next time, babe. Come on, our reservation is at eight, we gotta get going.”

 

~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~

 

As instructed, Kris is waiting outside his building at two PM sharp, wearing the outfit Mr. Park gave him.

And it’s an _entire_ outfit. A thin, light lavender sweater, at least two sizes too large for him, with a wide collar that falls off his shoulders no matter how many times he pulls it up. Ripped up and incredibly tight black jeans, soft enough to mold obscenely to his ass and thighs. They would have shown any sort of underwear line except for the one Mr. Park included, an itsy bitsy black jockstrap in soft black microfiber, holding his junk in place but leaving his ass exposed and naked in the jeans. The outfit is topped off with a new black velvet choker with a heavy, gothic cross in gunmetal hanging from the front, some big, ornate rings, and his familiar leather wrist cuffs. Mr. Park even included thin dress socks and black shoes, and Kris has absolutely no idea how he got Kris’s shoe size but they fit perfectly.

He looks like a teenaged hooker, and he can’t decide if he’s mortified or intensely turned on. The outfit would have been completely inappropriate for being in public if it wasn’t for the fact that the oversized sweater hung down to his thighs, covering his ass and crotch, and even disguising the cuffs around his wrists with long sleeves. He’s twisting the sleeves in his hands when a familiar black car pulls up.

Kris gets in. The way he’s dressed makes him want to sit more demurely, for some strange reason; he keeps his knees firmly together and his hands in his lap, half-covered by his pretty purple sleeves. Nervously, he glances up, and finds a casually dressed and absolutely _stunning_ Mr. Park raking heavy, judging eyes over his form.

“Mmmm,” Mr. Park purrs, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. “I have good taste.”

His - oh, _fuck_ , his cock is hardening. Right there in his lap, completely obviously, thickening and hardening right before Kris’s eyes as Mr. Park takes in his bared collarbones, his lean thighs, his fingers twisting nervously in his lap. Shit, that’s the hottest - _shit_.

“I am not going to survive today, am I?” Kris mumbles. “Tell Kyungsoo I love him.”

Mr. Park bursts out laughing, and Kris’s heart leaps. “Drama queen,” he teases, turning his attention back to the road and pulling away from the curb. “Don’t worry, you’re gonna have a _great_ time today, I promise.”

Mr. Park always makes good on his promises, so Kris relaxes a little. He can only assume, from the letter last night and from Mr. Park’s reaction to seeing him, that Mr. Park finds it sexy to dress him this way, as if he is younger and more feminine than he really is. And Kris is, as Mr. Park just pointed out, a little bit on the dramatic side, so he decides he’s going to play it up for Mr. Park today. He sits a little sideways in his seat, turning his body ever so slightly towards Mr. Park, crossing his ankles demurely and playing with his sleeves until his neckline falls off one shoulder, revealing the top of his tattoo.

It takes a few minutes for Mr. Park to look over at him, but when he does, his eyes flash, and Kris can see his cock pulse. He loves having that kind of control over Mr. Park - even if it’s the only control he has.

“We’re going shopping today, Yifan,” Mr. Park says. “You’ve done well for these first few weeks, _very_ well. I wanted to reward you.”

That makes Kris blink and look up. He’s 97% certain he makes far more money than Mr. Park does, so the idea of Mr. Park buying him things - spending an _entire afternoon_ buying him things, maybe - makes him balk. “Mr. Park,” he says, “you don’t have to - ”

“Do not argue with me,” Mr. Park says firmly. “If I want to spend money on my darling, I will.” He flashes a handsome smile and slides a possessive hand over Kris’s knee. The jeans are ripped there, and his fingers push in under the material and massage into Kris’s thigh. “You’ll repay me in your own way.”

Oh.

Flushing, Kris bites his lip and drops his gaze, half an act and half genuine. He’s glad the sweater is so long, because between Mr. Park’s voice, his suggestive words, and his hand, he’s already hardening himself. These jeans are way too tight for that, and he can feel his cock stretching the material as it fills.

He feels almost like a completely different person, someone simultaneously much more demure than he normally is, and much more brazen. He almost hopes someone out there will see his erection, see how hard Mr. Park makes him - and how hard he makes Mr. Park.

The drive is long, and they don’t really speak, but Mr. Park doesn’t take his hand off Kris’s leg, squeezing and rubbing at his thigh. The constant contact keeps Kris’s cock flushed for the whole ride, and his mind sinks further and further into subspace.

They arrive at an indoor mall, and park in the garage. Mr. Park takes Kris’s hand the moment they exit the car, pulling him in and holding him close for a long moment.

He’s… taller than Kris?

Kris blinks. They’ve always been exactly the same height, which, since Mr. Park is always wearing shoes when they’re together and Kris is always barefoot, means that Kris is actually a centimeter or two taller. But today, Mr. Park has put him in very flat, thin-bottomed shoes, while he himself is wearing dress shoes with heels, and possibly lifts as well. It puts him several centimeters above Kris, broad and strong and _towering_.

Kris has never in his life been smaller than the person he was with. _Never_. It’s a new experience and he finds he loves it. He curls in a little, tucking his head under Mr. Park’s chin, just for the joy of being able to do so.

“My gorgeous boy,” Mr. Park murmurs, stroking a hand over Kris’s silver-dyed hair and pressing a firm, loving kiss to his forehead. “I’m going to spoil you rotten today. Come on.”

 

~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~

 

Mr. Park is not kidding.

Shopping with him is a new experience, and actually quite fun. They amble through the mall hand-in-hand, and Mr. Park leads him from store to store. They don’t buy something at every store - which is good for Kris’s peace of mind - but when they find something they both genuinely like, Mr. Park buys it without hesitation.

There’s a sport coat from one store, a very fashionable button-front shirt from another, a handsomely made leather wallet from a third. They spend an entire hour in a perfumerie, trying out different colognes until Mr. Park’s eyes go dark and he murmurs, “This one. You’re going to wear _this_ one.”

There’s a very nerve-wracking moment when they’re in a clothier and Mr. Park leads him over to a large display of Kris’s own brand. Kris has never been so glad he didn’t give in to his marketing director’s urging to become the “face” of the brand - he can’t imagine what Mr. Park would have done if it was _his_ face and body plastered up on the walls in a tailored, pinstripe suit instead of a nameless model.

They don’t end up buying anything from that rack, though not for lack of Mr. Park trying. Kris supposes he should be flattered that Mr. Park likes his brand, but the intersection of his work life with this other life is just too weird, and they move on soon enough.

Two belts, a necklace, and a _far_ too expensive watch later, Mr. Park declares that they are done with the mall, but they have a few more stops to make first. He leads Kris out the doors and onto the street.

The area they’re in has a number of smaller independent shops lining the sidewalk, and Mr. Park drags Kris to every one of them. He’s getting touchier and touchier as they go, now, like he can’t keep his hands off of Kris’s body.

For his part, Kris is feeling too pliant to argue much when Mr. Park wants to spend money on him. He follows, he goes where he is told, he tries on what he’s asked to try on and gives opinions when requested and tries not to look too much like a lovesick puppy. It’s fun, it’s mindless, it’s relaxing, it’s arousing, and he hasn’t gone this long without worrying about work in a very, very long time.

There’s a few more things purchased - a beautiful handmade scarf, some very nice hand cream, a leather-and-silver cuff bracelet for Kyungsoo which they gleefully pick out together. Then, Mr. Park pulls him around a corner and into an alleyway without warning, and yanks Kris against him, kissing him hard.

Happily, Kris submits to the kiss, giddy at the feeling of having to tilt his face up. Mr. Park palms his ass in both hands and squeezes, and Kris _knows_ his moan is too loud but he can’t help it.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” Mr. Park murmurs. “Are you having a good time, baby?”

“Yes, Mr. Park,” Kris murmurs against his mouth, sweet as candy.

“Mmm.” Mr. Park’s hips work in a wide circle, grinding his cock right into Kris’s. Kris’s gasp is too high-pitched; it barely sounds like it’s coming from his own mouth. “One more store, and then we have a dinner reservation to make. I hope you’re hungry.”

Kris licks his lips. Mr. Park snarls and drags him in by the hair for another kiss.

The last store is a ways down the road, but the walk is nice. Kris can hardly believe how peaceful and dreamlike the afternoon has been, or how blissfully happy he is. He’s swinging his and Mr. Park’s joined hands back and forth as they walk like a child; he’s practically _skipping_. And Mr. Park keeps giving him these terribly fond looks, like he’s a particularly precious puppy.

His euphoria is dampened a little when he sees the store Mr. Park has led him to. With blacked-out windows and a suggestive sign, it’s all too clear what kind of a shop this is.

Kris hesitates. Mr. Park drags him through the door.

Sultry techno music and walls and walls of DVDs and toys assault his vision. There’s a rack of lingerie along one wall, and stairs to a second level with signs proclaiming “KINK LOFT” and “VIEWING BOOTHS.”

Nervously, Kris glances at the girl behind the counter, but she looks as bored as any other retail employee. There’s only a couple of other people in the store, so he relaxes a little bit and lets Mr. Park lead him around.

Sex toy shopping with Mr. Park is… _very_ interesting. There’s a couple of ridiculous things to laugh over, of course, but he also asks very serious questions, and sometimes very hot questions, about the items they’re perusing. Kris blushes, but he always answers honestly.

They do choose a few things. A really, _really_ large dildo, larger even than Mr. Park, which he promises to make good use of later. Some tiny, sheer boxer briefs, a compromise when Kris balked at the idea of wearing women’s panties. (He appreciates that Mr. Park didn’t press the issue. Maybe someday he’ll wear them for Mr. Park, but he’s not quite to that point yet.) A vibrating cock ring which Mr. Park tells him is another present for Kyungsoo, winking obnoxiously until Kris realizes what he means.

Going through the “Kink Loft” is fun. Mr. Park sneers at the cheap, commercial “bondage” gear, the aluminum pretend-handcuffs and the flimsy restraints. “You would probably break these the first time I whipped you,” he says, tossing a package back onto the rack. “My strong baby needs real leather and steel, none of this cheapo crap.”

Ooh. That’s the first time Mr. Park has called him strong in that context, and it makes him squirm a little. Does Mr. Park like it when Kris nearly breaks free? He seems like the type to enjoy a challenge.

Kris files that away for later as they move on to the kink toys. “This is shit,” Mr. Park mutters, his hands trailing over a cheap feathered toy. “Shit. Shit. Shit. Come on, where’s the good stuff? Ooh.” He moves to the other side. “Yifan, baby, come here.”

Moving to his side, Kris curiously looks over his shoulder. The device he’s holding looks medical and not sexy in the slightest.

Over his shoulder, Mr. Park grins. “It’s a TENS unit,” he murmurs. “For electroshock play.” Oh. Kris looks at it again. “I like using them, but I’ve never actually picked one up for myself. What do you think, baby, you want to try it?”

He’s literally never even considered this before, but he finds himself saying yes anyway. If Mr. Park likes it, he will probably make Kris like it, too.

“Alright, then, just one more thing. Pick yourself out a vibrator, Yifan.”

His first instinct is that it’s a joke, but of course, it isn’t. So Kris does as he’s told, with Mr. Park’s guidance. They settle on a remote-controlled vibrator plug, long, but not too large.

Mr. Park pays. The girl at the registers wakes up enough to shoot Kris a waggly eyebrow, but Kris is _pretty_ sure that’s just because Mr. Park is so crazy handsome and she’s jealous. Well, that’s what he chooses to believe, anyway.

Back out on the street, Mr. Park separates the discreet brown bags in his hands, his eyes searching up and down the row. “There,” he says. “That coffee house. Go into the restroom and put this in.”

He hands one of the bags to Kris, who looks down and sees that he’s holding the vibrator plug. Mr. Park has somehow produced a couple of packets of lube, too.

He looks back up with wide eyes.

“Yes, _now_ ,” Mr. Park murmurs. “It comes with batteries. And bring me the remote.”

Well, _shit_. Kris hurries to do as he says.

Working his own ass open in a fucking _public bathroom stall_ tops the charts as the nastiest and also most thrilling thing he’s ever done in his life. He gets the vibrator seated inside him and carefully pulls his pants back up. Running his hands over his own ass, he can definitely feel the base of the plug between his cheeks, but hopefully the oversized sweater will disguise it. He’s too scared to try to press the button, having no idea how loud the buzz might be.

It seems like an eternity before he comes back outside, to find Mr. Park leaning casually on the brick next to the door. He looks Kris up and down with eyes darkening, and holds out his hand expectantly.

Obediently, Kris hands the remote over. Mr. Park immediately flicks it on. Pleasure sears up Kris’s spine, and with a soft cry of surprise, his knees give out, forcing him to grab the wall to stay upright.

As quickly as it began, it stops. With a grin, Mr. Park pockets the remote. “Perfect,” he coos. “Let’s go to dinner.”

Kris is pretty sure handing that remote to Mr. Park without a fight is the stupidest thing he’s ever done. He’s totally on edge the entire walk back to the car, because Mr. Park’s hand is in his pocket where the remote is and he could strike at _any moment_.

Blessedly, Mr. Park waits until they are back at the car. Unfortunately, this means the second Kris’s butt hits the car seat, it’s vibrating.

“Ah ah _fuck_ ,” he grits out, squirming desperately in his seat. That goes _straight_ to his cock.

“Do not touch yourself,” Mr. Park murmurs, one finger slowly turning up the dial until Kris’s grip threatens to tear off the door handle. “And you don’t have permission to come until I say so.”

“Yes, Mr. Park!” Kris gasps, his cock jerking helplessly. Why does that have to feel so fucking _good_?

The vibration stops. “Good boy.” Collapsing into his seat, Kris breathes harshly for a minute, willing his heart rate - and his erection - down.

The drive is torture. Literal, pure torture, of the absolute best kind. Mr. Park keeps threatening to use the button as he drives, teasing Kris with it, flicking it on at random intervals and for random lengths of time. By the time they pull out onto the highway Kris is already practically out of his mind with arousal, unable to control the sounds coming out of his mouth or the way his legs kick or his death grip on the classy black leather interior of the car, and Mr. Park is rock-hard himself, shifting restlessly in his seat.

“Look what you’ve done now,” he says, too mildly. His eyes never leave the road but one hand drops to his lap and curls around his cock. “I can’t walk into the restaurant like this. You’ll just have to take care of it for me.”

Kris stills and blinks, the meaning taking too long to sink into his foggy brain. “Sir?” he asks, just to clarify.

Mr. Park tugs his zipper open and pulls out his cock, right there, right as he’s merging onto the fucking highway. “Now, Yifan.”

Every time Kris thinks Mr. Park has pushed him to the limits of his depravity, Mr. Park pushes him farther.

Figuring he might as well do it right if he’s gonna do it, Kris unbuckles his seatbelt and slides to his knees. He barely has enough time to get situated on the floor before Mr. Park’s hand is in his hair, tugging him forward, pushing his face into Mr. Park’s fly.

Kris hasn’t sucked Mr. Park’s cock before. He’s thought about it, of course he has, probably dreamed about it too, but the reality is way bigger and more difficult to get his mouth around than he had imagined. Mr. Park is making it even more difficult by shoving him about and impatiently thrusting up.

Automatically, Kris pushes back, attempting to get some control. He’s not thinking of it as an act of rebellion; it’s just an instinct. But he is stopped cold by the harsh grip on his hair, keeping him at the angle Mr. Park wants him to be.

“None of that,” Mr. Park murmurs, his thigh shifting under Kris’s chest as he accelerates. “Just be a good boy and suck.”

With his lips stretched over Mr. Park’s cock like this, Kris can’t even say _yes, Mr. Park_ , so he just closes his eyes and moves his tongue, obedient.

“Mmm. Mmmmm, yeah.” The hand in his hair pulls him up, then pushes down, farther and farther until Kris feels a thick cock pushing against the back of Kris’s throat. He chokes a little, coughing, and Mr. Park lets him up for a moment to catch his breath.

Only a moment, though, and then the thick shaft is sliding down his throat all over again. Kris is a little more prepared this time, and pushes against Mr. Park’s hand just enough to get his throat at a more comfortable angle, breathing deeply through his nose as the head slides over the back of his tongue and down his esophagus.

Mr. Park has never felt more huge than he does right now, and Kris has never felt so helpless. He can’t lift his head - he tries, and gets a very strong hand clenching roughly into his hair for his trouble. The fact that Mr. Park can hold him down so easily, with one hand, _while driving_ , has Kris whimpering slightly, shifting his thighs as arousal washes through him yet again.

Then the vibration starts.

It’s light, at first. Mr. Park has only clicked to the first notch. But it’s enough that Kris immediately starts to moan and squirm, his back arching restlessly. His moan sounds different around Mr. Park’s shaft, deep and muffled. He swallows clumsily around Mr. Park’s cock, unable to completely close his mouth with his lips stretched wide, and feels a heavy, telling pulse of blood flood into Mr. Park’s shaft.

“Good boy,” Mr. Park murmurs, his voice unusually husky. “Suck it, that’s a good boy. Swallow it down.” His body shifts, thigh flexing as he moves to the brake and back again, changing lanes one-handed while the other holds Kris down onto his cock. “Fuck, your mouth is so hot, look at those pretty lips. Jesus.”

Kris wants to say _thank you, Mr. Park_ or even _your mouth is pretty too, Mr. Park_ but he’s gagged even more thoroughly than with the ball gag. All he can do is moan in response.

“Mmm. Yeah. Louder, baby.”

Kris moans louder, vibrating Mr. Park’s shaft with his throat.

“I said _louder_.” The vibration of the plug suddenly doubles in strength, and Kris lets out a long, half-sobbing cry, his hips squirming desperately to get away from the overstimulation. He feels like he would explode at the slightest touch, but both he and Mr. Park know that he can’t come from anal stimulation only, so he remains in that state of almost-coming, trying to concentrate on not drooling all over Mr. Park’s lap as Mr. Park grinds his cock deep down Kris’s throat.

Eventually, he does let Kris up, and Kris coughs and catches his breath. Blessedly, the vibration stops. Kris collapses against Mr. Park’s knee, staring at his spit-slick and _angrily_ hard cock in awe.

“We have about, oh, five minutes or so before we get to the restaurant,” Mr. Park says coolly. “If I haven’t come by then, you will regret it.”

Shit. _Shit_. “Yes, Mr. Park,” Kris says breathlessly, and leans in again.

Mr. Park’s hand remains in his hair, but it’s just resting for now, not guiding. Kris holds Mr. Park’s shaft in one hand and wraps his mouth around the head, bobbing quickly and sucking hard. He pulls out every trick he’s learned in his admittedly limited experience, paying particular attention to the underside of the head.

He thinks he must be getting close. Mr. Park feels harder than ever, _impossibly_ hard, and precome is leaving salty streaks on Kris’s tongue, but he hasn’t come yet and Kris suspects he’s running out of time. For the first time, he internally curses the man’s incredible stamina. Desperate, he takes a deep breath, and swallows Mr. Park whole, pushing down until his nose is buried in the soft material of Mr. Park’s grey slacks.

“Fuck,” Mr. Park murmurs, his hand abruptly clenching into Kris’s hair. “Yeah, fuck, that’s it.” He lifts Kris’s head roughly, and Kris whines as pain pricks at his scalp, but the whine is cut off when Mr. Park _shoves_ him back down.

A long pull up, and a sharp shove down, that’s the pace he sets. It’s brutal, and Kris’s gag reflex threatens, forcing him to use every ounce of will not to choke. He literally cannot do anything else - Mr. Park is using him roughly, and _still driving_.

Finally, with a groan, Mr. Park comes. Kris can feel his orgasm rolling up his shaft, making him swell to even more ridiculous proportions before releasing. He can’t really swallow, but he doesn’t really have to; the come goes straight down the back of his throat, never touching his tongue.

The hand in his hair releases, and Kris pulls back. He suckles on the head for one more moment, cleaning it instinctively, keeping it in his mouth until he’s absolutely certain Mr. Park is done, for no other reason than to avoid allowing come to dribble onto Mr. Park’s slacks. Breathless, he collapses, leaning his head on Mr. Park’s knee and looking up at his face for the first time.

Mr. Park glances down at him briefly, his gaze returning to the road as his hand cups Kris’s cheek. “Oh, baby,” he sighs. “That was perfect.”

Kris should get up. He knows riding in the floor of the car like this isn’t safe. But he stays, sitting on his hip at Mr. Park’s feet, catching his breath and gazing up at him adoringly, for the rest of the ride.

When they have come to a stop, Mr. Park pulls out a tissue from the glove box and carefully wipes Kris’s mouth, cleaning away drool and traces of come, peppering his face with kisses. Kris basks in the attention until Mr. Park urges him out of the car.

The restaurant is _nice_. _Really_ nice. The kind of place Kris would take an investor he _had_ to impress. Kris feels underdressed in his ripped jeans and pastel lavender sweater, but Mr. Park guides him forward without shame. They’re right on time for their reservation, and are led directly through the dining area and to an area the maître d' refers to as the _boudoir_ , which turns out to be a series of semi-private, two-person booths, set up with a single couch and a low table, so that patrons have no choice but to sit close and snuggle up.

“Mr. Park,” Kris says softly. “This is too much.”

Mr. Park lays a gentle kiss on his cheek, right there, right in the middle of the fucking restaurant. Even _Kyungsoo_ has never kissed him so publicly. “Of course it isn’t,” he replies. “Sit, Yifan. It’s time to eat.”

So Kris sits. They are big men, and the couch is small, so his hip is pressed to Mr. Park’s. They couldn’t put distance between each other if they tried.

They don’t try. Mr. Park leans back and pulls Kris down, and Kris, wary and hesitant, slowly leans against his chest. It’s comfortable, cozy; they fit together perfectly so long as Kris curves his spine inwards a bit, sits a little lower in the seat. Thanks to the high privacy screens, the only person who could see them like this is their waiter, unless someone gets nosey and purposely cranes their head to look.

For his part, the waiter doesn’t bat an eye. He simply explains the menu - this is one of those places where you eat what the chef decides you eat, and you like it - and asks if they would prefer the red or the white wine. Mr. Park orders the red without asking Kris his opinion.

As soon as the waiter is gone, Kris’s ass starts to buzz.

He jumps, yelps. Or he tries to, but Mr. Park has clearly anticipated his reaction, because his hand comes over Kris’s mouth, his grip on Kris’s shoulders tightening. “Hush,” he whispers, hot and heavy with intent. “Get ahold of yourself, Yifan. We’re in public.”

Face flaming, Kris turns his head and buries it in Mr. Park’s shoulder. “Please, Mr. Park,” he whines, breathless and desperate. “Please stop it.”

“No. You have what it takes to handle this, I know you do.” Mr. Park’s hand drops into his pocket, the buzzing increases, and Kris bites down on his lower lip, trying desperately not to squirm as his thighs twitch and his cock flushes hard for at least the sixth time in four hours, stretching out his too-tight, clinging jeans. “My good boy wouldn’t embarrass me in public, no matter what. Right?”

“But Mr. Park,” Kris whines softly. “I’m _so hard_. Help me.”

Dark eyes slide down to Kris’s lap, and dark eyebrows cock consideringly. “Show me.” Obediently, Kris lifts the hem of his thin sweater, displaying his erection. These jeans are too low-waisted for this; if he gets any harder the head of his cock is going to push up above his waistband. “Hmm. So you are. That’s too bad, really. There’s nothing we can do about that until after dinner.” Mr. Park guides Kris’s hemline back down, and mercifully, the buzzing stops. Kris collapses against his side in relief. “Be good and enjoy your dinner. You don’t get food like this every day, you know.”

Kris can’t answer, because at that moment, the waiter returns with their wine. He has a long spiel about it - where it comes from, why it was chosen to accompany this meal, the tasting notes. Halfway through, the buzzing begins again, and it takes literally every ounce of will in Kris’s body not to squirm, sob, reach for Mr. Park, not to react in any way at all.

He manages it, and the moment the waiter leaves again, the buzzing stops. “Very _good_ , Yifan,” Mr. Park praises softly, dropping a kiss on Kris’s slightly clammy forehead. “You have incredible control, honestly. I’m so proud of you.”

Oh, that sounds so _genuine_. It makes Kris determined to be worthy of Mr. Park’s praise. Swallowing thickly, he reaches for the wine bottle, too aware of Mr. Park watching him pour. He holds the first glass out to Mr. Park, his eyes automatically hovering somewhere around Mr. Park’s collar.

With two fingers, Mr. Park tilts his face up, makes Kris meet his eyes. He doesn't say anything, just searches Kris’s expression, and then, as if he’s found what he’s looking for, he smiles. Helplessly, Kris smiles back. He literally can’t do anything else. How does Mr. Park always do this to him? It’s the most beautiful manipulation Kris has ever known.

Mr. Park tries the wine, and encourages Kris to do the same, and they fall into a conversation about their tastes in alcohol. Kris is more demure with his words than he would be normally, letting Mr. Park dominate the conversation, but otherwise it feels very normal.

Except, of course, for the fact that Kris’s ass keeps suddenly vibrating. But he’s determined to do Mr. Park proud, so he keeps a tight rein on his reactions, showing only just enough so that Mr. Park can see how badly he is affected. His arousal, his need, are for Mr. Park’s eyes only, despite the fact that they are in public.

The first course arrives, and the waiter has another speech, about the ingredients and the inspirations and the flavors and the textures. The vibrator flicks on twice during this, but Kris doesn’t move a muscle. He’s learning to let the arousal just wash over him, to placidly allow himself to feel without reacting. It doesn’t make his cock less hard, but the long shirt takes care of that.

The waiter leaves. Mr. Park glances at Kris, and suddenly, the vibrator is _roaring_ , turned up all the way. Kris manages to stay silent, but he can’t help the expression of pained ecstasy that twists his expression, or the way his hands grab for Mr. Park’s arm and clench desperately.

Mr. Park chuckles and the vibration stops as suddenly as it began. “So precious,” he coos. “Here, darling, let’s eat.” He leans down, carefully fills a forkful with a little bit of everything, and presents it to Kris with a little flourish.

Hesitantly, Kris takes the mouthful. The food is incredible, flavors and textures expertly combined for a perfect, satisfying bite, and Kris lets his eyes flutter shut, softly moaning his appreciation as he chews. Mr. Park hums, and Kris slits his eyes open to find him watching Kris with veiled lust and no small amount of amusement.

“Pretty little slut,” he murmurs, making Kris’s heart jolt. “You can’t help but to enjoy life, can you? Your reactions are so pure, so unadulterated.” His smile widens. “It makes it such a pleasure to pull them out of you.”

Blushing, Kris takes the other fork and busies himself assembling another perfect mouthful. He presents it to Mr. Park, watching avidly as red lips slide over the sterling silver. 

Mr. Park stops, his own eyes closing. “Mmph.” He chews, swallows. “Okay, I can’t exactly blame you for acting like the food was about to bring you to orgasm. That’s _amazing_.”

Kris chuckles. Mr. Park grins.

They feed each other throughout the whole meal, never themselves.

There’s three courses, and on the outside, they must seem like a normal couple on a date - well, as normal as two men on a date ever gets, in Korea. And Kris thinks he would probably get lost in the illusion, himself… if it wasn’t for the fact that _his ass is still vibrating at random intervals_.

Dinner takes close to an hour, all told, and Kris is hard as steel the entire time. He’s so deep in subspace, and so fucking _hard_ , that he’s practically forgotten what it feels like to not be aroused. The sensual, delicious food is not helping, and neither is the full force of Mr. Park’s attention, which never wavers from him.

It isn’t until the dessert course, though, that it starts to become unbearable. Dessert is a plate of beautiful petit-fours, tiny little tortes and cookies and squares of cream and fudge and jelly. Mr. Park picks up one delicately between his fingers and offers it to Kris.

Seizing his opportunity, Kris leans forward and takes the little square of chocolate and cream with his tongue. He purposely laves at Mr. Park’s fingers, sucking softly with lips pursed, then pulls back, sensuously licking at his lips to get every last crumb.

“Fuck,” Mr. Park whispers, so soft that Kris isn’t 100% certain it is voiced at all. He glances down, and is rewarded with the sight of Mr. Park’s cock rapidly growing hard. The man can go from flat-front bulgeless to rock-solid huge in ten seconds flat and Kris will never, ever get sick of witnessing it.

Kris blinks, trying to feign innocence. He’s absolutely certain he fails. Mr. Park’s expression goes dangerous. He picks up a tiny, bright green French macaron, puts it into Kris’s hand, and brings Kris’s hand to his lips. Kris’s eyes go wide, his breath coming short as Mr. Park eats the treat out of his fingers, teeth scraping his skin and lips wrapping around his knuckles, his dark eyes boring into Kris’s like a challenge.

He’s barely had a moment to wrap his brain around how _blazing hot_ that was before Mr. Park snarls softly, fists a hand in his hair, and drags Kris down onto his lips. Chocolate mixes with lime as they kiss, and right in the middle of it Mr. Park flicks on the vibrator, and Kris moans openly into his mouth, unable to stop himself.

The grip on his hair tightens, pulling him up short. “Shut. Up,” Mr. Park growls, nearly silent. “Or do you want the entire restaurant to know how hungry you are for my cock?”

Kris shuts up. Mr. Park picks up another treat, a tiny strawberry cheesecake, and practically shoves it into Kris’s face. The flavor is delicious and goes well with the salt of Mr. Park’s skin as Kris eagerly licks the cream away.

“Maybe there’s no point in even trying to maintain the illusion,” Mr. Park murmurs, picking up another little torte and feeding it to Kris. He’s getting rougher and rougher, pulling at Kris’s lips, shoving his fingers messily into Kris’s mouth. “Everyone in here probably thinks I’m your sugar daddy, anyway.” Kris’s hands clench into the hem of his shirt, his heart pounding and cock throbbing at the idea that someone might come around the corner and see him being treated this way. “It’s painfully obvious, isn’t it? No one dresses like that unless they’re advertising themselves.”

The vibrator stops, but just then, Mr. Park reaches down and gives Kris’s bulging cock a rough squeeze. Kris buckles in on himself, suddenly seconds from orgasm, but the pressure is gone before he can get there. He makes a wanting noise, whining softly over the loss.

“Mr. Park,” he whispers. “Please, please, Mr. Park, can I come now?” He doesn’t even think before he asks it, he just _needs_.

He gets an incredulous look. “In the middle of a five-star restaurant? That’s _sick_ , Yifan.” A snort. “You can hang in there a little while longer. Sheesh.”

Flushing red, Kris sits back, crosses his legs, and tries to will his erection away. It doesn’t work very well - especially when Mr. Park picks up the last bit of dessert and pops it into his own mouth with much more tongue than is really necessary. Kris makes a very interesting noise, his gaze locked onto Mr. Park’s mouth, and with a pop and a curled lip, Mr. Park pulls his fingers from his mouth and reaches for his wallet.

“Get up,” he says, quiet but sharp. Kris gets up, shifting his weight awkwardly as the vibrator re-settles inside him and his too-tight pants squeeze his cock. Mr. Park stands as well, pulling a frankly ludicrous stack of won from his wallet and dropping it on the table. “Bathroom. _Now_.”

The implication is all too clear, and Kris hurries to do as he’s told, trying very hard to walk normally despite the erection and the plug and his own eagerness.

The men’s room has three stalls, and all three are currently empty. Kris goes for the furthest one, noting as he does so that the sides of the stall are solid all the way down to the floor, but the front is not. If anyone were to happen to glance down…

A big hand wraps around his wrist and yanks it away from his crotch. Fuck, he hadn’t even _realized_ he was rubbing himself, _that’s how gone he is_.

“Do not make a fucking sound,” Mr. Park hisses, closing and locking the stall door. Kris nods, mouthing _yes, Mr. Park_. It’s all he has time to do before Mr. Park grabs him by the shoulders, spins him, and pushes him face-first into the tiled wall.

Kris’s jeans are around his thighs before he can breathe in. The vibrator comes out next, tugged roughly away, leaving Kris’s hole empty and leaking.

That doesn’t last long. Mr. Park clamps one hand around Kris’s face, completely covering his mouth, and drives his cock into Kris’s body in one stroke. Kris’s wail disappears into Mr. Park’s skin.

“Huh, nngh, _fuck_.” Mr. Park’s mouth is right next to Kris’s ear, breathing out his pleasure in porn-worthy stereo sound. “I’ve been waiting all. Fucking. _Day_.” Each word is punctuated by a sharp thrust, and Kris goes automatically pliant, his full weight on his forearms, arching his back and spreading his thighs as best he can with the tight jeans wrapped around them. Mr. Park’s cock feels so painfully, _delightfully_ huge in his half-stretched hole. “Every time you fucking bend over. Every time you lift your fucking arms. You do it on purpose, don’t you? Goddamn _tease_.”

Kris can only gasp. Mr. Park’s second and third fingers slide into his mouth, gagging him completely; his thumb is digging into Kris’s cheek hard enough to bruise.

“Oh, mm, yeah. Such a tight little whore. I told you you’d be paying me back.” His voice is like a boulder rolling down a hill. “You’re probably _desperate_ to come, aren’t you, slut? Well, you better keep a fucking lid on it, because I’m not done with you yet.”

Mr. Park drives all the way in and stays there. Kris whimpers, needy. He’s never been able to come without some kind of friction on his cock before, but if Mr. Park keeps this up he might just surprise himself.

The door opens.

Both of them immediately freeze. Footsteps enter, head towards the urinals. There’s no way to tell how far the unseen man came into the room, whether or not he might look under the stall door and see two pairs of fancy shoes in a very compromising position.

Kris looks over his shoulder, turning his head with his face still clenched in Mr. Park’s broad hand. Mr. Park’s black eyes twinkle at him, and his cock pulses hard with arousal in Kris’s ass, and Kris knows, suddenly and without a single doubt, that the danger of getting caught is turning Mr. Park on more. Fuck, he’s a kinky sonofabitch, and Kris loves hi-

 _It_. Kris loves it.

Shaken, Kris stares into Mr. Park’s eyes. Slowly, silently, Mr. Park’s free hand slides around his body, under the loose top, across his flat stomach, and down into his jeans. Hot, rough fingers slide over the flimsy, stretchy jockstrap holding Kris’s angrily hard cock in place, tracing out his shape with careful, silent reverence.

Orgasm threatens to swallow Kris whole. Somehow, he forces it back, his wide, desperate eyes locked onto Mr. Park’s, shuddering violently as Mr. Park touches him in the most simple and delicious of ways. He will not come. He will _not_ come.

He _will_ make Mr. Park proud.

The urinal flushes. Mr. Park rocks against Kris’s ass, just the smallest of movements, but it makes Kris’s mouth drop open in a silent gasp around Mr. Park’s fingers. More footsteps, and then the sink starts to run.

Mr. Park leans close, and whispers, almost soundlessly, right into Kris’s ear.

“Come for me.”

Need floods Kris’s body. Mr. Park gives his still-covered cock one good, hard stroke, and that is all it takes. Silently, Kris erupts, his entire body clenching in time with the spurts of semen that douse the inside of the flimsy undies.

Footsteps recede and the door swings shut, and Mr. Park immediately starts to pound Kris with the force of a runaway bull. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck - _Yifan_ ,” he moans, and comes himself. “Aaaaah, _aaaaaaaaah_. Ohgod.”

Belatedly, Kris realizes he’s bit down on Mr. Park’s fingers. He releases them, licking at them a little in apology, and Mr. Park shudders full-body against him.

It takes them a while, after that, to come down from the high, to disentangle and clean up. Kris showers Mr. Park’s tooth-marked fingers with apologetic kisses, and Mr. Park softly kisses the bruise forming on Kris’s cheek, and they throw the destroyed jockstrap in the trash, leaving Kris commando in the tight jeans.

Cooldown and aftercare is a stroll around a nearby little park, hand-in-hand, both of them sated and glowy. Kris can’t thank Mr. Park enough for the amazing day, and Mr. Park laughs brightly, tugging him close and telling him how glad he is that his darling enjoyed himself.

“You were so perfectly behaved today,” Mr. Park says softly, as they sit on a park bench, pressed hip-to-hip and shoulder-to-shoulder. “You make it so easy to baby you, to shower you with affection. I have to say, this is more fun than I’ve had in years.” He reaches up and cups Kris’s face, his thumb stroking lightly over the bruise again. “Yifan, you might just be the best sub I’ve ever had.”

Kris floats on that statement for the rest of the week.

 

~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~

 

He wears the ripped jeans to work the next Casual Friday, paired with a dark grey shirt. He’s pretty sure Joonmyun knows exactly what he’s doing, but thankfully, his admin doesn’t call him out on it.

Kris films himself jerking off, making sure his restlessly flexing thighs are visible through the tears in the black denim. He sends the video to both Mr. Park and Kyungsoo, because why not.

_Kyungsoo (2:45PM)_  
_Mr. Park, I think you’re a bad influence on him._

_Mr. Park (2:47PM)_  
_I beg to differ._

 

~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~

 

“Harder. _Harder_. Ahh, fuck, yes!”

“Shit, Soo,” Kris pants, getting a grip on the headboard so he can put more force into pounding his lover. Nails are carving lines into his back, heels in the backs of his thighs urge him on, interior muscles cling tightly to Kris’s cock, squeezing and fluttering. He can’t remember the last time Kyungsoo was this wild in bed.

Kyungsoo doesn’t answer him, except to lean up and nip at Kris’s ear. Kris gasps, his rhythm stuttering, and he hears a low, breathless chuckle.

He sweeps an arm under Kyungsoo’s leg, lifting Kyungsoo’s ankle onto his shoulder. It puts him at just the right angle, and Kyungsoo gasps and writhes, his insides pulsing wildly around Kris’s cock.

The moaning in his ear is pouring need down his spine, and Kris feels himself getting close. “I’m gonna -”

“If you come before me,” Kyungsoo warns, “I am pinning you down and fucking you.”

 _Fuck_. Shocked, gasping, Kris abruptly comes, his toes curling and his face turned in towards Kyungsoo’s upraised leg.

He barely gets a moment to catch his breath before Kyungsoo squirms out of his grip, slides out from underneath him, and shoves him face first into the mattress. An aftershock seizes Kris, and he spurts uselessly into the mattress, grinding his hips down blindly.

Kyungsoo presses two fresh-lubed fingers into his ass, a bit more roughly than usual, but Kris has been taking Mr. Park’s cock regularly for a while now so he accepts the intrusion with no more than a needy whine. His limbs are shaking from his release, but he pushes back onto Kyungsoo’s hand anyway, his back arching. Kyungsoo scissors his fingers a few times, but that’s all the prep Kris gets before he’s pushing in.

Mr. Park is considerably bigger than Soo, in pretty much all dimensions. So Kris feels no pain, barely any stretch, just delicious friction and the breathless, pounding, fast pace that Kyungsoo immediately sets. It’s obvious that he’s already most of the way to orgasm, and the endorphin release of his own is making Kris feel pliant and accommodating, so he rolls his hips a little to pull Kyungsoo’s orgasm out as quickly as possible.

It’s over in seconds. Kyungsoo bites down on Kris’s shoulder as he comes, twining their fingers together. Kris tilts his head, inviting the pain, and hangs on while Kyungsoo pumps come into him.

Kyungsoo collapses over Kris’s back. Kris groans, satiated and pleased.

“You know,” he says, “I think us both seeing other people in the scene is only making the sex _better_.”

Laughing, Kyungsoo rolls off of him and burrows into his side. They’re both disgusting, sweaty and lubey and messy with each other’s come, and Kris could not give less of a shit.

“You know,” Kyungsoo murmurs playfully, “you might be right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [come talk to me!](http://ask.fm/unnie_bee)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **if you haven't already read the extra warning list at the beginning of chapter 1, please do so. this chapter is a bit nastier than the others.**

Weeks go by, and Kris has never been happier with his life. His relationship with Mr. Park settles into something comfortable, a part of his day-to-day existence. Outwardly, he is CEO Kris Wu, managing one of Asia’s fastest-growing fashion houses with an iron fist, all confidence and radiant smiles and high-class style. In private, he is Yifan, and his life belongs to Mr. Park, willingly. He’s found a balance and he loves it.

But Kris has never been content to stick with the status quo. He _has_ to push for more - it’s in his nature. And he’s starting to wonder… what would happen, if he disobeyed Mr. Park?

Of course, he’s messed up a few times. He’s come before he was given permission, or spoken without being spoken to, or said something inappropriately cheeky. But it’s always been an accident, and though Mr. Park does punish him, he always acknowledges that his Yifan didn’t mean to be bad.

But what if he _did_ mean it? What if he was bad on purpose? What would Mr. Park do?

Kris can’t stop thinking about it. The idea of it terrifies him, and thrills him. The few times that Mr. Park has _really_ punished him are some of his dearest memories. Those ten bloodletting lashes he took in front of the mirror, for example, or the way Mr. Park treated him when Kris looked over his shoulder and saw him fucking Baek.

He’s been so picture-perfect good, he hasn’t had another scene like that. And more and more, he thinks that he _wants_ one.

This bounces around in his head for a week until Kris finally decides he’s going to do something about it. It’s Thursday, and he has a date at the playroom tonight, and Mr. Park ordered him days ago not to come. The opportunity is too obvious.

He takes a long lunch, and goes for a drive. Finds a garage with no one parked on the top level. Parks in a corner and jerks off, recording it to send to Mr. Park. He’s purposely as teasing about it as he can make himself be, writhing theatrically against his white leather car seat, licking his come off his fingers, pouting prettily and whining at the camera about how much he misses Mr. Park’s cock, how badly he needs it. His heart is pounding the entire time, not only because someone could drive by and see him, but also because he knows he’s disobeying and every word out of his mouth is only digging himself a deeper hole.

Kris almost doesn’t send the video. Once he does, there’s no going back. Mr. Park will know he deliberately disobeyed. But Kris is not a coward, and when he decides to do something, he does it.

He sends the video, silences his phone, puts it facedown on the seat next to him, and drives away, his pulse racing like never before.

Concentrating for the rest of the day is all but impossible. He forces himself not to look at his phone, knowing full well that the second he sees Mr. Park’s response, his productivity will be _completely_ shot. It’s difficult, but he manages to make it until 5, and then he can’t take it anymore. He looks.

There’s a dozen texts and a voicemail.

_Mr. Park (1:37 PM)_  
_What the fuck was that_

_Mr. Park (1:41 PM)_  
_Yifan. Answer me. What did you do_

_Mr. Park (2:26 PM)_  
_Are you even going to apologize?_

_Mr. Park (2:58 PM)_  
_I’m calling you_

_Mr. Park (3:12 PM)_  
_You’re ignoring me, aren't you_

_Mr. Park (3:21 PM)_  
_Please, I’m not an idiot. You NEVER go this long without looking at your phone. I know you’re ignoring me._

_Mr. Park (3:49 PM)_  
_I can’t believe you filmed yourself jerking off in a public fucking garage, you desperate, dramatic little cunt_

_Mr. Park (4:06 PM)_  
_Can’t fucking go a week without getting off. How dare you disobey me? You’re such a slut and it makes me sick_

_Mr. Park (4:25 PM)_  
_I’m calling Kyungsoo. He should know what a disobedient bitch you are._

_Kyungsoo (4:39 PM)_  
_Christ, Kris, what the fuck did you do? Mr. Park sounds MURDEROUS._

_Kyungsoo (4:40 PM)_  
_He wanted to check that nothing had happened to you since you weren’t answering your phone but I told him I hadn’t heard anything. I hope you really are okay. If i don’t hear from you soon I’ll call the office._

_Kyungsoo (4:40 PM)_  
_I hope you know what you’re doing, baby_

 

Exhilarated, his hands trembling, Kris dashes off a quick text to Soo to let him know he’s okay and that he does know what he’s doing, then he listens to the voicemail.

Mr. Park is _seething_. The fury and disgust in his voice makes Kris’s insides turn to jelly, threatening to liquefy completely. His voice is insanely sexy, but also fucking terrifying, because Kris knows his vague threats of _you are going to regret disobeying me_ will absolutely come to fruition. Mr. Park doesn’t threaten idly.

When Mr. Park threatens him, Kris usually enjoys the result. But he’s _never_ heard Mr. Park this angry. Has he gone too far?

Another text comes through, and too late, Kris realizes Mr. Park can see now that he’s looked at his phone, that the messages have been read.

_Mr. Park (4:52 PM)_  
_Don’t even fucking go home. You get your ass right over here, you understand me? You’re in for it tonight._

Knowing he won’t be able to concentrate on anything else, feeling giddy and maybe slightly sick, Kris dashes off another quick text to Soo to tell him he’s going straight to the playroom and shuts off his computer. He swings past Joonmyun’s desk on his way out.

“Do I have anything important scheduled for tomorrow?” he asks.

Joonmyun looks. “A meeting with Minseok to go over the response from the latest advertising campaign,” he says.

Kris nods. “Reschedule that. I won’t be in tomorrow.”

Dark eyes blink up at him. “You’re taking a day off? _You_?”

“Pretty sure I am, in fact, allowed to take a day off,” Kris points out mildly.

“Sure, you’re _allowed_ , but that doesn’t mean you ever _do it_.” Joonmyun eyes him, his expression going thoughtful. “You’re jittering. This wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with a certain mutual acquaintance texting me to ask why you weren’t answering him, would it?”

Shit, Mr. Park texted Joonmyun, too? “Um. It might.” Kris flashes him a grin. “I just think it would be best if I took a long weekend.” Because who fucking knows if he’s even going to be able to walk in the morning.

A snort. “Sure thing, sir. I’ll clear your calendar. Have a good weekend.”

Kris is gone.

 

~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~

 

The door is ripped open the moment he knocks, and Mr. Park is suddenly _right there_ , his expression like thunder.

“Get in here,” he snarls, deep-voiced and filled with unspoken threat. Kris immediately, instinctively drops his gaze and hurries to do as he’s told, his pulse roaring in his ears.

The second the door latches, there are hands on his body, shoving him roughly to the floor. He falls to his knees, then a hand on the back of his neck pushes him forward until he collapses entirely, prone on his stomach on the soft, light grey carpet. Mr. Park digs his knee painfully into Kris’s upper back, holding him still.

“Alright,” he says. “First things first.” He grabs Kris’s arm and twists it roughly up behind him, ignoring Kris’s surprised cry of pain. “Why did you disobey me, Yifan?”

Kris knew this question was coming, and has considered his answers carefully. He thought about asserting that it was an accident, but since they both know it wasn’t, that seems silly.

“I needed to come,” he says instead.

He feels Mr. Park buckling his cuff around his wrist, the familiar padded leather drawing him down into subspace like a lead weight. Mr. Park lets his wrist go, but Kris leaves it there, feeling as though he is still being held down as Mr. Park repeats the action with his other wrist.

“You _needed_ to come?” Mr. Park asks, scathing. “You _had_ to come? You would have _died_ if you didn’t bust a fucking nut?” He turns his body a little, his knees digging harshly into Kris’s skin, and pulls up Kris’s feet. “ _Answer me, Yifan_.”

“No, no, I just - ” Mr. Park yanks off his shoes and socks. “I wanted to - ” One of his shoes is whipped across the room, hitting the far wall with a sudden, loud _bang_ that makes Kris jump and cringe.

“You wanted to get off!” Mr. Park accuses, settling his cuffs around his ankles and yanking the buckles tight. “That’s all. That’s all it was. You’re just fucking greedy and spoiled and couldn’t wait another few hours to get your rocks off.” His weight lifts, and Kris takes a deep, shuddering breath.

That’s all the reprieve he gets, though, because Mr. Park drags him backwards, up onto his knees. He balls his hands in either side of Kris’s expensive blue work shirt and _yanks_ , and Kris gasps as buttons go flying and his shirt comes right open. He should be annoyed at the damage to his property but all he can think about is the way the violence makes his cock sit up and beg like a hungry dog.

“So fucking _impatient_.” Mr. Park roughly yanks his tie open until it’s loose enough that he can pull the shirt collar out from underneath it. “Well now _I’m_ impatient, Yifan. And you’re about to find out what that means.”

His shirt is pulled down his arms and twisted, rapidly tied into a makeshift restraint around his wrists. Mr. Park fists his other hand into Kris’s tie, pulling his neck back and pushing his hands forward so that Kris is forced to arch, gasping as the silk closes against his airway. His head is pulled back onto Mr. Park’s shoulder, and he stares up, knowing there is fear and awe in his eyes, knowing Mr. Park can see his cock flushing hard. He’s frightened by Mr. Park’s intensity, but the masterful way Mr. Park manipulates his body is sexy as hell, and he can’t help but to be turned on by it.

“What do I do with you, Yifan?” Mr. Park asks. He glances down with flat, merciless eyes. “You still haven’t even _tried_ to say sorry.”

Kris licks his lips and remains silent. He _isn’t_ sorry, and Mr. Park knows it. There’s no use in lying.

“You did this on purpose, didn’t you?” Mr. Park says, soft and dangerous. “This wasn’t a sudden urge you mistakenly indulged. This wasn’t an accident.” He cocks his head, and his grip tightens, forcing Kris to arch even more extremely. “You did this specifically to provoke me.”

He knows. Well, of course he knows, Kris wanted him to know. “Yes, Mr. Park,” he whispers. “I wanted you to see how crazy you make me.”

He hadn’t realized how closely Mr. Park’s hips were pressing into his ass until he feels Mr. Park’s cock suddenly throb to life at his quiet confession. Mr. Park might be acting angry, but his body gives him away; he’s as turned on by this as Kris is. The knowledge makes Kris’s churning gut settle a little bit.

“I make you crazy, hmm?” Mr. Park says, a dangerously deep purr. “You can’t get enough of me?”

There’s warning bells in Kris’s mind. This is a trap, but the entire point of this escapade was to get a reaction out of Mr. Park, so Kris allows himself to take the bait. “Never,” he moans. “I’ll never get enough of you.”

A wide, manic grin presses to the back of his neck, stretching across to brush his ear. “Let’s test that.”

Still controlling Kris with the tie in his hand, he reaches down Kris’s body and plunges his hand into Kris’s pants.

Heat envelops Kris’s cock, followed immediately by tight, rough pressure. Mr. Park doesn’t bother with any kind of formality, he just squeezes and pulls, rapidly jerking Kris’s cock from half-hard to throbbing hard as Kris cries out in shock, his hips jerking eagerly. This is pretty much the _opposite_ of what he was expecting but he’s not complaining.

Mr. Park’s fist twists, and the silk of Kris’s tie pulls tight, and then _tighter_. Kris gasps like a fish, his chest heaving as he strains to pull in air through his half-closed throat. Adrenaline races through his system, sickening and exhilarating, and he jerks hard, but Mr. Park is strong, he’s _so_ strong, Kris can’t get enough leverage to get away.

“C’mon, you addict,” Mr. Park snarls. The tie untwists, allowing Kris to drag in a full breath, his vision swimming, before it tightens again. “Why aren’t you coming yet? Hurry up.”

His pace speeds, and in seconds, Kris is coming, stars behind his eyes, his body attempting to double over but getting pulled up short by the controlling grip on his tie.

Mr. Park doesn’t stop jerking his cock. Even after Kris is done, starting to soften; even after Kris cries out and tries to squirm away from the overstimulation. “What’s wrong?” he asks. “I thought you couldn’t get enough.”

It hits Kris, in that moment, what his punishment is.

 _Shit_.

Mr. Park finally lets him go, only to push him facefirst into the carpet again. Kris gasps, too overwhelmed and relieved to even try to fight back, limply accepting his fate as Mr. Park yanks his shirt and trousers the rest of the way off and tosses them aside. That doesn’t last long - suddenly, he’s pulled to his feet _by his neck_ , and scrambles to get his balance underneath him on jellylike legs.

He’s practically dragged into the playroom, the door kicked shut behind them. The room’s rearranged again. A new mirror is on the wall, unbroken, and the only piece of furniture Kris has never used has been moved to the center, right in front of it - the spanking bench.

Oh. He’s always wondered… 

Obviously, he’s about to find out. Mr. Park tips him onto the bench, his torso laid out flat on the main body. It’s padded, but not soft in the least, only barely more comfortable than bare wood.

Something ratchets, and the front end of the bench drops. Kris yells in surprise as his chest drops out from under him, barely engaging his core in time to keep from falling over. Mr. Park sees that he’s still flat-backed and shoves him down with a snarl, until his torso is again pressed into the angled bench, his ass up higher than his shoulders.

There’s a metal ring screwed into the front of the bench. Mr. Park pulls out a carabiner and clips Kris’s wrist cuffs to it, forcing his hands to hang together under his chin like he’s praying. He barely gets a second to adjust to that before Mr. Park is behind him, kicking his legs apart and clipping his ankle cuffs to - to _something_.

Craning his head, Kris looks in the mirror. His feet have been clipped to the A-frame support posts of the bench, forcing them widely apart. The back of the bench is up high enough, he has to stand on his toes in order to stand at all, his knees perfectly straight and his thighs and calves flexed and quivering. His ass is presented high in the air, tilted up; his back is a long, smooth arch along the slanted bench to where his hands hang uselessly in the air.

It’s absolutely the most open, most wanton position he’s ever been forced into. He looks incredibly sexy, but also incredibly, uncomfortably vulnerable. And Mr. Park, standing behind him, tall and fully dressed and still furious, seems that much more powerful in comparison.

Kris looks away, dropping his head and taking a deep breath.

The first strike to his ass comes without any warning, a strong, barehanded slap. Kris’s whole body shakes, and he chokes on his scream, but this is pain of a very familiar kind, and he feels his still-drained cock twitch, reflexively trying to fill. Oh god, when did he become _conditioned_ to get off on being spanked?

Mr. Park hits him a total of six times, alternating, three to each ass cheek. He immediately grabs Kris’s ass in both hands and kneads into it, rubbing into his sensitive skin. Moaning, Kris tries to arch, but he’s pretty much immobilized.

“Fuck, you fucking love this, don’t you?” Mr. Park says, and it sounds much more accusatory than it normally does. “You _get off_ on being chained up and smacked around. I could shove my cock in you dry right now and you’d probably fucking thank me for it.” Kris’s breath catches - it’s a kind of threat Mr. Park has never made before.

Big, hot hands slide down the backs of Kris’s thighs, and then Mr. Park digs his blunted nails in and rakes them harshly upwards, clawing lines from knee to ass. Kris yelps, trembling, but he can’t move, can’t get away even a little bit.

“Tell me how much you love this, Yifan,” Mr. Park snaps. “I left you ungagged for a reason.”

Kris’s mind scrambles, flailing around internally for something to say. His thoughts are pretty much nothing but _fuck fuck fuck_ right now; coherency is difficult. “I love your hands,” he finally gasps out. “I love it when you touch me, the way you use me.” There. That’s reasonably coherent, and true besides.

“Mmm.” Mr. Park takes his ass in two big handfuls and rolls them apart, spreading Kris uncomfortably open. “Even when I hit you?”

Trying to shift his weight and failing, Kris whimpers. “ _Especially_ when you hit me.” His legs are getting tired already; he lets more of his weight fall onto the bench to relieve a little pressure. It leaves his cock trapped between the bench and his body, but that’s alright, after two orgasms in one afternoon he’s not sure how much more use it’s going to be anyway.

All his attention is forcefully redirected when suddenly there’s a finger pushing at the rim of his asshole. A _dry_ finger.

“How about now?” Mr. Park asks, rubbing his thumb in little circles around Kris’s tightly closed hole. “Still love it?”

Kris moans brokenly, a shudder seizing his already trembling thighs. That feels fucking _incredible_ , pleasure so intense it borders on pain. The knowledge that it would take just the tiniest slip for the sensation to tip over into pain has Kris’s breath coming in terrified little gasps, but arousal is curling up into his stomach anyway.

Mr. Park smacks him right in the asshole, a sharp flick the wrist that makes Kris _wail_. “I asked you a question!”

“Yes, Mr. Park,” Kris gasps out reflexively. What was the question? “Yes, I love it. I love it.” It doesn’t matter whether it’s true or not; Kris doesn’t even stop to determine if it’s true. Mr. Park wants him to say it, and that’s all that matters.

Slowly, Mr. Park pushes his finger in. Skin pulls on dry skin and Kris jolts as the most sensual pain he’s ever experienced sears through his nerves. One finger has no right to feel so big, and such a slow movement has no right to feel so sharp. Mr. Park wiggles a little, not thrusting yet, just tiny motions that have Kris yelling and jerking uselessly against his restraints.

“All the times I’ve pounded this ass, and you’re still so sensitive,” Mr. Park says. “You’re going to come again.”

He might have meant that as a promise, but it sounds like a command. “I don’t think I can, Mr. Park,” Kris whines.

The finger up his ass pushes in deeper, and Kris jerks so hard, the front legs of the bench lift off the ground. “That was not a question, Yifan,” Mr. Park growls. “You _will_ come again.”

He drops to his knees and buries his face in Kris’s ass.

“ _Fuck!_ ” Kris spits out. Hot breath precedes wet, soft pressure to his barely-stretched rim, and that is a pleasure unlike _anything_ else, completely drowning out the pain. He’s never - this feels so - _ohhhhhh GOD_.

Mr. Park hums, right there, right against his asshole, a smug, satisfied sound. Arousal floods through Kris’s body, making his crushed, overworked cock throb and swell. Locked in place as he is, he can’t move much, but his hips start to rock, pushing back onto Mr. Park’s tongue as it replaces the finger inside him.

He’s getting hard again. That shouldn’t even be possible.

With his face still buried, Mr. Park smacks Kris’s ass _hard_. The shock of it makes Kris’s cock jerk, almost painful in its own right, his already emptied balls drawing up tightly. The unusually tight feeling of his arousal only intensifies when Mr. Park’s finger returns, and Kris doesn’t want to think about how messy he must be with Mr. Park’s saliva to make the slide of his finger so much easier than it was thirty seconds ago.

Mr. Park pushes in and presses directly into Kris’s prostate. No teasing, no warning, just ruthlessly amazing pressure that sends blood flooding into his cock like a switch has been flipped. He can’t stop making noise, can’t stop struggling against his bonds, not because he wants to get away but just because he has to _move_.

The pressure on his prostate is moving now. Mr. Park is stroking against it purposely, driving Kris’s pleasure higher and higher. He needs to come, he _wants_ to come, but he really does not think his body is capable of it and so he hovers painfully on a razor’s edge, dangling over the precipice into release but unable to fall.

The sound of the door opening shocks Kris so badly he nearly knocks the bench over. Mr. Park’s free hand clenches hard into his thigh, steadying him, as Kris frantically cranes his neck to see who just came in. He can’t look at the door from this angle, but he can look in the mirror. It’s Kyungsoo, frozen in the open doorway, his eyes impossibly huge as they rake over Kris’s exposed position and Mr. Park ravishing him.

Kyungsoo’s face twists into a gorgeous, glorious expression of pure sexual desire. He moans, deep and throaty and genuine, and Kris squeezes his eyes shut and gasps as orgasm takes him over. Everything clenches, his hands and his toes and his stomach and his ass and his cock, an intense burst of pleasure that leaves his head swimming and stars behind his eyelids.

It takes him too long to realize his cock is still hard, that there’s no wetness between his stomach and the bench. A dry orgasm. He hadn’t even known he was capable.

Hazy, exhausted, and completely wrung out, Kris takes too long to process movement around him. When he blinks back into reality, Mr. Park is back to standing behind him, and Kyungsoo has come to crouch in front of him. Soo reaches up and cups Kris’s face in both hands. Kris hadn’t realized he was crying until Kyungsoo’s thumbs wipe away the tear tracks.

“What did you do, baby?” Kyungsoo asks. “What did you do to deserve this punishment?”

Kris blinks at him, his tongue heavy and lifeless. Can he even form words right now?

“Tell him,” Mr. Park commands. “Tell him what an insatiable fucking whore you are.”

His insides jerking in a different way, Kris swallows heavily and mindlessly obeys. “I jerked off,” he says. “Mr. Park told me not to but I. I couldn’t. I needed to. I -” He’s all but incoherent and he knows it, but his brain and his mouth are not communicating right now.

Kyungsoo’s brow furrows. “You knew you had a session tonight,” he says, and he sounds - disappointed? Kris’s stomach turns uneasily. “You couldn’t wait just a few more hours? Darling, that’s pretty sad.”

“Soo, I’m sorry,” Kris says immediately, helplessly. “I just wanted - I wanted - ”

“He wanted to piss me off,” Mr. Park snarls. “And it worked. Good job, Yifan, you’re reaping what you sowed.” Something blunt and utterly _huge_ presses against Kris’s ass, and he glances in the mirror with his heart dropping into his toes. Mr. Park is going to fuck him. Just like this. Practically unprepared.

Kris clenches reflexively, whimpering and dropping his head. He can’t look Kyungsoo in the eye when this happens.

Mr. Park thrusts.

He’s lubed himself. That’s a tiny relief. But Kris isn’t nearly stretched enough, and Mr. Park is not at all small, and the pain that burns up his spine is so, so much more intense than he was anticipating. He can’t even cry out, he can only suck in a breath and hold it, his entire body shuddering violently, and he’s certain the only reason he’s not screaming is the sheer amount of endorphins still in his system from his last two orgasms.

“Ahhhhh,” Mr. Park moans. “Yeah, open up for me, slut. God, you take cock like a fucking pro hooker.” He slaps Kris’s ass again, not that hard on the scale of ass-smacks Kris has received tonight, but it makes his body jerk around Mr. Park’s cock, highlighting how fucking enormous he feels. “Go on, Kyungsoo, get yourself a piece. This little whore lives for dick.”

Of all the things said and done to him so far tonight, for some reason, that cuts the deepest. Kris whimpers, his face flushing scarlet, and ducks his head so he doesn’t have to see how Kyungsoo reacts to that.

He can’t keep his head down for long. Kyungsoo’s hand lifts his chin, and Kris watches silently as his other hand pulls his fly open and tugs out a half-hard cock. “Open up,” Kyungsoo murmurs, soft and emotionless.

Kris closes his eyes and opens his mouth, accepting Kyungsoo’s cock as Mr. Park starts to thrust. He can’t control his moan, sounding too eager and slutty even to his own ears. His dignity is in shreds and there isn’t a single thing he can do about it.

He lets them use his body, not that he has much of a choice. Mr. Park is steel hard and rammed so deep into his ass that Kris can feel his organs squelch, and Kyungsoo is rapidly growing just as hard, the pliable cock in his mouth becoming more and more unforgiving.

“What an eager fuckhole you are,” Mr. Park says. “You would probably take any cock offered to you, wouldn’t you?” He thrusts extra hard, shoving Kris forward onto Kyungsoo’s cock. Kris chokes, his stomach clenching. His hands are balled into useless fists, nails digging into his palms. “If a parade of men came through that door you’d fucking take them all, one right after another.” He leans forward, his hand clenching into Kris’s hair to tilt Kris’s head back further, and Kyungsoo slides deeper down his throat.

“No,” Kris tries to say, but he can’t. He’s gagged, completely, by his boyfriend’s cock.

“Just dick after dick after dick. Using your cunt like a toy. I know your type. You’d beg for them to fuck you, use you, come all over you.”

Kyungsoo growls. Kris’s heart jerks unhappily. He _isn’t_ like that, that’s not something he’s ever wanted, and the fact that Mr. Park is slinging these accusations is only made worse by the fact that Kyungsoo isn’t defending him.

Does Soo think this too? Does he believe Kris would just offer up his ass to any person who wanted it?

Mr. Park is still thrusting, harder and harder now that Kris’s ass is stretched and relaxed, but Kris can barely feel him. His attention has narrowed down to the ugly words washing over his back, and the shame and fear that’s curling in his chest.

“Any bitch too sex-crazed to wait a few more hours to get fucked must be fucking desperate for cock,” Mr. Park snarls. “I guess we’re just goddamned lucky you didn’t go find an alleyway, huh?”

“Shit,” Kyungsoo snaps, and abruptly pulls out of Kris’s mouth. He looks horrified, and Kris can’t do this, he can’t take this anymore, no, no, _stop_.

“Red,” he gasps out, as loudly as his ruined throat can manage. “ _Red!_ Stop!”

Mr. Park freezes mid-motion. Everything stops moving, except Kris, who bursts into tears.

“Shit.” Carefully, Mr. Park pulls out, and both he and Kyungsoo drop to their knees, immediately working to free Kris from the bench. In seconds he’s unchained, and four strong hands roll him off the bench and down to the carpet.

Shaking violently, Kris curls up between them and sobs like he’s never sobbed before. His entire body is a mass of sensation and fatigue and pain, and his mind is a dangerous whirlpool of _i’m not like that i would never don’t hate me please don’t hate me._

“Shhh, shhh, I’ve got you, we’ve got you,” Mr. Park is murmuring, and Kyungsoo throws his arms around Kris’s shoulders and squeezes him tightly. “It’s okay. It’s okay, it’s over now. It’s over.”

Kris has no idea how long it takes for him to calm down, but he’s grateful for the solid strength of Mr. Park’s arms and the warm reassurance of Kyungsoo’s. He tries to tell himself it was just a scene, it was just pretend, that neither of them really believe he’s a whore but he just can’t make the words stop ringing in his ears.

Finally, his tears dry up, and he quiets to just the occasional shaky inhale, and his death grip on Mr. Park’s neck loosens. Mr. Park shifts, settling Kris sideways between his spread thighs so that Kris can curl up against his chest, tucked safely under his chin.

“Are you alright, Yifan?” Mr. Park asks, very softly.

Kris nods. “Yeah. I’m - I’m sorry.”

He is squeezed. “Don’t be sorry, oh my god,” Mr. Park murmurs. “You’re fine, it’s totally fine. That’s the _point_ of a safeword.” 

Kyungsoo picks up Kris’s hand and lays a soft kiss to his knuckles, making Kris crack a smile.

“Can you tell me what triggered you?” Mr. Park asks.

“Um.” Fuck, it seems so stupid. “It was just - it was the whore stuff. I mean, I like it when you call me a whore, I do,” he quickly adds. “Usually. It’s just. I like being _your_ whore. _Your_ slut. I don’t want to just - It’s not just _anyone_.” He cringes. “Does that even make sense?”

“Yes, of course it does,” Mr. Park says soothingly. “I’m sorry, that’s my fault, I didn’t think to ask ahead of time. I should have known.”

“It’s okay,” Kris says automatically. “I mean, I know lots of subs do like it. That girl we saw at the club, she was literally taking -” He stops, even the words making him feel gross. “She was doing exactly what you said, and she clearly enjoyed it. But. I don’t want that. I’m sorry.” Mr. Park shushes his apology. “Kyungsoo is my partner, and you’re - you’re my _master_. I don’t need just any man, just any sex. I want _you_.”

“You want to be Mr. Park’s whore, but no one else’s,” Kyungsoo translates.

“Yes. That’s it exactly.”

Mr. Park pulls him closer. “Okay, Yifan. I promise. Mine, and sometimes Kyungsoo’s, and no one else’s.”

Kris doesn’t realize how tense he still is, until the promise makes him sag in relief. “Thank you, Mr. Park.”

“You’re absolutely welcome. Yifan, I’m sorry, I pushed you way too hard.” He tilts Kris’s chin up, so Kris can see the kindness and the genuine apology in his eyes. “I knew you would never disobey me like that unless you wanted a punishment, but I got carried away. I swear to you, I’ll never cross that line again.”

Kris tucks himself in close. “I don’t deserve you,” he whispers.

“You deserve the world, Yifan.” Mr. Park hugs him tightly. “And for the record, it says a lot about you, that I can torture your body like that, but it isn’t until I hurt you emotionally that you give in.” Kris laughs, startled, and Mr. Park smiles at him. “You’re so strong. I’m in awe of you.”

“I don’t feel strong,” Kris mutters. “I feel like an _idiot_. You’re right, I provoked you on purpose, just because I was curious to see what you would do. I brought this on myself and then I couldn’t even handle it.”

“Baby,” Kyungsoo says, “it’s okay to test your limits. You’re safe with us, you’re always going to be safe with us.” He squeezes Kris’s hand. “You did nothing wrong.”

They are silent for a long moment.

Finally, Mr. Park asks, “Do you think you’re going to be able to continue being my sub?”

Kris’s heart jolts. “Yes,” he says immediately. “I don’t know if I can - I think we’re done for tonight? But I’m not ending this. I’m not leaving you.”

Is he imagining that relieved sag of Mr. Park’s shoulders? “I’m so glad,” Mr. Park murmurs. “Would you be up for another scene tomorrow night? A very easy one, I promise you. I want to replace this memory before it gets too solidified.”

Considering his knee-jerk reaction to being this upset and stressed out is _I need Mr. Park_ , Kris is all for this idea. “Okay,” he says. “Tomorrow night.”

Mr. Park presses a soft, warm kiss to the middle of his forehead. “Thank you for trusting me, Yifan,” he says. “I’ll try my best to be worthy of it.”

 

~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~

 

Kris is incredibly thankful he had the foresight to take Friday off, because even safely wrapped in Kyungsoo’s loving embrace, it takes him forever to fall asleep. He sleeps too long and wakes up to breakfast in bed, so late it can barely still be called breakfast.

Kyungsoo has taken the day off as well, and they spend the afternoon cuddling and watching mindless TV. A slow, sensual joint shower and nice meal at their favorite local place, and then they go to the playroom.

True to Mr. Park’s word, the scene that night is gentle and sweet. They baby Kris, all their attention on him, pampering him with warm wax and warm kisses and heartfelt praise. When he finally does come, it’s in Kyungsoo’s ass, while Mr. Park rocks into him gently from behind, and he shudders thankfully through it and tells them both how much he loves them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [come talk to me!](http://ask.fm/unnie_bee)


	11. Chapter 11

“Anything I need to know before this meeting?” Kris asks Joonmyun as they walk side by side down the hall to the conference room.

“Not really,” Joonmyun says. “It’s an advertising agency, they’re here to pitch us a campaign. I’ll be taking notes, so all you have to do is sit there and make them nervous.”

Kris snorts. “That sounds easy enough. And if they manage to impress me despite that…?”

“Then we’ll have Legal draft a contract. They approached us, so we’re in position to say no if we want to. But this particular agency has a great reputation, so I thought it would be worth your time to see what they have to offer.”

“Awesome.” They’ve reached the door, so Kris squares his shoulders, lets his _you don’t impress me_ bitchface settle onto his features, and opens the door.

There’s five people already in the room, three women and two men. One of the women, relatively tall and impeccably styled with perfect black hair to her waist, immediately stands and comes forward, shaking Kris’s hand and introducing herself. Kris nods, half-listening to her introductions of the others as he takes in their dress. Normally, he tries not to judge people on their clothing choices - fashion is subjective, after all - but these are people who are angling to win a contract to advertise and promote his brand, and he thinks that an understanding of fashion is probably a prerequisite in this case.

He likes what he sees. The five of them range from professionally uptight to professionally edgy, but all professional, and all uniquely stylish. That’s a good sign, and he flashes a hint of a smile as he shakes the hand of the edgiest one, a small, slight, short-haired woman in an inspiringly daring androgynous suit.

He looks up as the last man is turning away from the windows, and catches a glimpse of deep, silvery-purple dyed hair that makes his heart leap into his throat. But no, that couldn’t be. That would be ridiculous.

Then, the man faces him, and their eyes meet. Both of them freeze.

“And this,” the long-haired woman says, “is our newest addition, Park Chanyeol.”

“ _Shit,_ ” Joonmyun breathes from behind Kris’s elbow, too soft for anyone else to hear.

Kris agrees with the sentiment. And for the first time ever, Mr. Park looks completely and utterly caught off-guard.

All too aware of the sudden awkward silence in the room, Kris shakes himself off, forcibly shoving his surprise down under a well-worn and comfortable mask of professionalism. “Good to meet you,” he says, striding forward and reaching out a hand. “Mr. ...Park, you said?”

“Call me Chanyeol,” Mr. Park says, taking his hand in a firm and strictly professional grip. His tone is cheerful, his eyes are meaningful, and he is definitely, _definitely_ the same man. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Wu.”

Kris takes a deep breath and flashes a tight smile. He knows Mr. Park well enough to know that the extra-respectful use of his family name wasn’t an accident, it was a signal. They’re not Mr. Park and Yifan here. They are Chanyeol and Mr. Wu. 

Kris has the power now.

“Alright,” he says, very deliberately turning away from Mr. Park - from Chanyeol, he has a _given name_ \- and towards the woman in charge, whose name is Victoria. “Impress me.”

She smiles, and gestures to the table. Chanyeol goes to one of the chairs on the far side, the same side that the two open chairs are on; for the sake of his concentration and sanity, Kris takes the chair furthest from him and puts Joonmyun between them. He can’t see Chanyeol without leaning around Joonmyun, and that’s probably for the best.

Bless Joonmyun, who gets it instantly, and sits up straighter than usual, purposely blocking both taller men’s views of each other. Kris does everything he can to put Mr. Park slash Chanyeol out of his mind and concentrate on the presentation.

It’s quite an impressive presentation, actually. Kris is intrigued when Victoria opens with her own analysis of the direction his fashion house has taken since the change in ownership, and completely hooked when she unveils the proposed four-part advertising campaign to rebrand the design house as a go-to name for young, hip business professionals. He leans forward and starts firing off questions, beginning with why it would be a smart business decision to focus so much on this one demographic. Victoria handles the questions smoothly, and Kris can even hear Joonmyun beside him making thoughtful noises as he takes notes.

Satisfied with the premise, willing to entertain the notion, Kris sits back as the other four - the designers, as it turns out - each pitch their part.

The androgynous woman, Amber, is a television director, and pitches ideas for a series of thirty-second television commercials. The third woman, Krystal, is a social media content strategist, and shows an innovative and really rather sneaky plan to tie the television spots into a viral marketing campaign.

Then, Mr. Park gets up. Kris swallows, his hand clenching into his knee under the table. Joonmyun shoots him a warning look, but Kris knows very well that he has to put his fluttering nerves to the side and treat Chanyeol like any other potential business associate. He can freak out later.

It turns out that Chanyeol is a print advertising designer, which is not at all like anything Kris would have guessed for Mr. Park’s day job. (Frankly, the idea that Mr. Park even _has_ a day job is completely new to Kris. He’d just assumed that being a pro-Dom was Mr. Park’s _only_ job.) The magazine advertisements he pitches are stark and clean, cleverly framed, with a sexy but almost haughty vibe, and they tie in beautifully with the TV spots and the viral marketing.

By the time the other man gets up, a young, vibrant fashion merchandiser named Zitao, to tell him how they’re going to display the clothes in the stores to wrap up the package with a visually appealing and commercially desirable bow, Kris has already decided he’s hiring them. And it isn’t because of Mr. Park, though he’s already preparing to defend himself from that accusation. It’s because this team is making him more excited about his own products than he has been in months, and he’s got a dozen new ideas he needs to write down.

He wants to get Joonmyun’s feedback on it, though, and talk to the designers and the in-house marketing team, who are probably going to have to actually execute these ideas. So he remains stonefaced and cool, and thanks Victoria and her team for coming, and tells them they will hear back within a week. Joonmyun, knowing his cue, gets up and bows and offers to show them all to the door.

“Actually, if you wouldn’t mind directing me to the washroom...?” Chanyeol asks. He glances at Kris when he says it, and - oh. _Oh._

“Sure,” Kris says smoothly, also getting to his feet. “It’s on my way back to my office. Follow me.”

He sees Victoria shooting Chanyeol a significant look, which probably means something like _charm him!_ , but he’s frankly too suddenly nervous to think about that. They exit the conference room, and Chanyeol falls into step beside him.

As soon as they’re out of earshot, Kris hears, “Yifan.”

It’s absolutely incredible, the effect that one word has on him. His spine curves, his chin drops, his eyes flutter up to meet Mr. Park’s demurely. He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, until he does it, and has to re-school his expression.

Mr. Park’s face is gentle and concerned. “I’m so sorry. I swear to you, I had no idea.”

Kris nods. He knows that. Mr. Park would never have used their connection like that, and his shock when he’d turned and seen Kris had said it all.

The nod doesn’t seem to placate Mr. Park. “I’ll tell them I can’t be involved in the project. I’ll make up some excuse, I won’t bring your name into it, I promise.”

“What? No no, don’t do that.” Instinctively, he puts his hand on Mr. Park’s arm, as if comforting him, or restraining him, or both. “You don’t need to do that. I want you involved in the project.”

Mr. Park’s face compresses unhappily. “Yifan, I _can’t_. For the same reason that you could never allow Suho to dominate you. You don’t want to blur the lines of professional and personal life like that, trust me.”

“I’ll step back from the project, I’ll let my department heads handle it. They need the exercise, anyway. But you, I need your work in there. Those ads were gorgeous, Chanyeol.” He uses Mr. Park’s given name purposely, keeping his tone brisk.

It nets him a hopeful, but slightly suspicious look. “Really? You aren’t just saying that to keep me closer?”

That makes Kris laugh. “I _belong_ to you,” he points out. “That’s already pretty close.”

Chanyeol stops him, right in the middle of the hallway, a hand around his wrist. “No,” he says gently. “Yifan belongs to Mr. Park. There’s a difference, and you know it.”

Just as gently, Kris twists his wrist away, breaking out of Chanyeol’s grip. He’s never done that before, _ever_.

“I do know,” he says. “And it’s Park Chanyeol that I want involved in this project. Assuming we accept the offer at all.” He points down a side hall. “Bathroom is on the right. Have a good day, Chanyeol.”

He turns, stomach fluttering, and heads towards his office.

“Kris,” Chanyeol calls. Shocked to hear his name - his _everyday_ name - from Chanyeol’s mouth, Kris turns. Chanyeol grins, wide and open. “I like seeing you like this. Power looks good on you.”

Just like that, Kris is off-balance again. Smiling - and _blushing_ \- he walks away.

 

~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~

 

Kyungsoo is as worried about the conflict of interest as Mr. Park is, which Kris can understand. But Kris is the one who will have to deal with the emotional stress if he allows this to happen, and so he puts the decision in Kris’s hands.

“I want to offer them the contract,” Kris admits. “And before you say it, no, it’s not just so I can keep him closer during the day. Joonmyun and I took the proposal back to both Marketing and Design and everyone in the damn _company_ is excited about it.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I feel like it would be more selfish if I _didn’t_ offer them the contract. I just have to find a way to make it a comfortable arrangement.”

Pulling his legs up onto the sofa, Kyungsoo curls into Kris’s side and hums thoughtfully. “Well, you’re writing the contract,” he points out. “Write in some failsafes. Make sure there’s no chance the money or the creative control you’re giving to them could be impacted if you somehow have a falling-out with Mr. Park.”

Kris can’t imagine having a falling-out with Mr. Park, but he recognizes the wisdom of Kyungsoo’s suggestion. “I’m gonna work on this now,” he says.

“I’ll bring you dinner.” Kyungsoo kisses his forehead and gets up. “And I’m going to be reading that contract over before you present it.”

“Soo.” Kris grabs his hand. “I didn’t even think - are you okay with this? Because if you’re not, I’ll reject the offer.”

Kyungsoo brings Kris’s fingers to his lips and presses a kiss to the knuckles. “I’m only worried for you, babe. If you think you can handle it, I’ll trust your word.” He grins. “And maybe someday we can get Mr. Park to come out to lunch with _both_ of us for a change.”

 

~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~

 

Kris has gotten input from everyone, at this point. From the design team, the marketing team, the legal team. From Joonmyun, the only person who knows all the sides of the story. From Kyungsoo. But in the end, the decision is Kris’s alone to make.

He has Legal draft the contract, and carefully watches Mr. - no, _Chanyeol’s_ face as he and his team read it over.

“So we’ll be working directly with your heads of marketing and design?” Victoria wants to know. “Not with you personally?”

“That’s correct,” Kris says.

Amber sits back, her copy of the contract in hand, pursing her lips as she studies it. “Huh,” she murmurs. “That’s unusual. Why?”

“Amber,” Krystal warns quietly.

“It’s fine,” Kris says smoothly. “Because Luhan and Minseok are relatively new to their positions, and I want to see what they can do with this opportunity.” He’s had this answer planned out. It’s true, even if it’s not the whole story. Minseok and Luhan were promoted to Directors of Marketing and Design, respectively, in the wake of the Director of Art getting fired and his job getting split in two. “Do you want to take some time to talk it over?” he asks.

Amber shrugs. “Looks good to me.” She glances at Krystal, and then they both glance at Victoria, and Victoria looks to the two men. “Chanyeol? Tao?”

Tao nods, but Chanyeol hesitates. In an instant, Kris recognizes his mistake; he should have sent them the contract before meeting in person, given Chanyeol time to look at it, time to decide, time to come up with a reasonable excuse to bail, if necessary. Put on the spot like this, he basically has no choice, and the last thing Kris wants to do is back him into a corner.

“Maybe you should just take it and look it over,” Kris says again, uncharacteristically anxious.

“No, it’s fine,” Chanyeol says. He glances around the table. “I think we’re all agreed.”

Kris’s eyebrows raise. “You’re sure?” He looks around the table so that it won’t be obvious the question is aimed at Chanyeol alone. They all nod, but only one of those nods matters. “Great! Then it’s settled.”

Everyone signs the contract. Kris calls Luhan and Minseok down to meet the advertising team, and sits back to watch as the creatives start batting around ideas. After the initial awkwardness, they get on well, and soon the room is chaotically loud and Victoria has taken over the whiteboard at the end of the room, scribbling as they brainstorm.

It’s interesting, but Kris can hardly be expected to pay attention when Mr. Park Fucking Chanyeol is in the room.

Fortunately, he doesn’t really need to. He’s just signed a hands-off contract, retaining only final vetoing rights for himself, so he has every excuse to lean back, stay silent, and watch. He’s careful not to stare openly at Mr. Park, but for all Kris cares, there’s no one else in the room.

He’s not wearing grey. Weirdly, that’s one of the more jarring things about this. Mr. Park _always_ wears grey. But today he’s in a deep navy suit with thin pinstripes, his suit jacket slung over the back of his chair to display his maroon shirt. It’s much more vibrant a look than Kris is used to seeing on him.

After a few minutes, though, Kris wonders if it's the colors that are more vibrant, or if it’s just Chanyeol.

He laughs. Like, a _lot_. And very loudly. He’s just loud in general, actually, particularly when he’s got an idea to share. It’s completely unexpected, but surprisingly charming, and when Chanyeol laughs at some wry comment Minseok makes, Kris can’t help but smile in response.

Chanyeol catches his eye, and sees him smiling, and for a split second, his eyes darken, like Mr. Park is shining through. Kris’s breath catches, but then it’s gone, replaced with a cheerful, wide smile, animated features, excitedly rushed words as Chanyeol enthuses about their ideas.

Kris wonders which version of him is real. Is Mr. Park, the calm, strict, loving taskmaster the real one, or is it Chanyeol the Print Designer, excitable and enthusiastic and creative? Or is the real Park Chanyeol something in the middle? Or someone different entirely?

He knows he shouldn’t be devoting so much brainspace to this, but he can’t help it. The question obsessively bounces around in his mind. It’s just that this Chanyeol is _so completely different_ from Mr. Park. It’s fascinating.

Joonmyun eventually sticks his head in the conference room and reminds Kris that he has lunch with some investors, and Kris reluctantly leaves the creatives, and Chanyeol, to go do his own job.

 

~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~

 

Kris fully expects that his next play session will be accompanied by a Big Conversation, and he isn’t wrong. The moment they walk in, Mr. Park immediately drags both him and Kyungsoo down onto the couch in the front room, his expression very serious.

“Okay,” he says. “We really need to talk. About _everything_.”

Plunking down heavily, Kris looks him in the eye. “Yes, I thought it over carefully. Yes, I think it will be fine. No, I do not want to stop. No, nothing has changed between us.”

Mr. Park throws up his hands, obviously exasperated. “Of course it’s changed! It’s already changed! You’ve _never_ spoken to me that way before, Kris. _Ever_.”

Raising an eyebrow, Kyungsoo murmurs, “You’ve never spoken to _him_ that way, either.”

Nodding, gesturing, Mr. Park says, “Yes, exactly, that is my point. Whether you like it or not, Kris - _Yifan_ \- Fuck, I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be calling you right now.” His face drops into his hands.

Kyungsoo exchanges an alarmed glance with Kris. “Are you… are you okay?”

“No.” Mr. Park laughs, short and humorless. “Shit, I’m sorry. You’re my _client_ , you shouldn’t see me like this.” He takes a deep breath and sits back up. His face is more flushed than usual, his eyes reddened.

Kris can’t help it. He scoots forward and pulls Mr. Park into his arms. Mr. Park - or Chanyeol, it’s a lot easier to think of him as Chanyeol right now - resists at first, but after a moment he relaxes, turning towards Kris’s embrace.

“Whether you like it or not, Kris, our relationship has changed,” he says, half-mumbled into Kris’s shoulder. “I shouldn’t have accepted the contract. You might not have known better, but I _did_.”

The couch shifts. Kyungsoo moves to sit on Chanyeol’s other side, rubbing circles into his back. “So… why _did_ you accept the contract, then?” he asks.

Chanyeol arches into Kyungsoo’s touch and sighs. “Because I’m new, and I didn’t want the team to lose the contract because of me,” he mutters. “Which is _exactly_ the kind of conflict of interest I was trying to avoid. I can’t believe I didn’t realize that you _own the company_. I should have done a little research, or _something_.” He pulls back a little, smiles wryly. “I just about had a heart attack when you walked in.”

Laughing, Kris nods. “Me too. If Joonmyun hadn’t been there I think I would have just turned around and walked right back out again.” Chanyeol chuckles. His smile is so pretty, even though he’s still clearly upset, and Kris _aches_ to make this work. “Listen, I really - I don’t want to give this up yet. You honestly do help me, so much. Can’t we at least try it?”

Chanyeol has never looked so unsure. “We can try,” he says, but he sounds doubtful.

It takes a while for the scene to get going. Usually, they walk in the door and Kris is already halfway into subspace, but today it takes a bit for the calm to wash over him. He can’t help but notice how unsettled Chanyeol looks, how long it takes him to fall back into his Mr. Park persona.

He does eventually settle, though. Their scenes have been sweeter, gentler, since Kris’s breakdown a few weeks back, only just now starting to ramp back up to where they were before that. Mr. Park starts him slow tonight, a flogging and sensation play scene similar to the first few they did, but this time Kris is on the spanking bench instead of the cross. That part was Kyungsoo’s idea - giving him some good memories to override the bad one.

It feels nice. Kris’s back is sweetly sensitized, and he’s allowed to kneel on the leg supports tonight instead of standing on his toes, so he’s actually quite comfortable. Mr. Park and Kyungsoo are tag-teaming him, with Mr. Park wielding the whip and Kyungsoo the sensation toys, alternating smoothly back and forth. The constantly changing sensations, the rapid shift from pain to pleasure and back again, leaves Kris moaning and squirming.

It’s not getting him off, though.

Kris keeps waiting. Mr. Park has a sort of cadence to these sessions, a rhythm. It always starts to build after a while, getting more and more intense until Mr. Park decides it is time for Kris to come.

He’s not building, tonight. He’s keeping it slow and sensual, and it’s _nice_ , but it’s not what Kris _wants_.

So he starts to beg.

It’s subtle, at first. Arching his back, making his moans louder and more theatrical. When that doesn’t make a difference, he starts getting verbal. “More, Mr. Park,” he breathes, shifting his body back to make it clear he means it. “Please, sir.”

Mr. Park swears under his breath. “Brat,” he murmurs, but his next strike is much harder, slicing across Kris’s shoulder. Kris whines happily, shuddering, and Mr. Park leans over his back to press a soft kiss to the spot he just whipped, and, yes, there it is. There’s the arousal and aching need he was looking for.

“In my first session,” Kris says, turning his head to look over his shoulder into Mr. Park’s dark eyes, “you said someday I would beg you in specifics, how I wanted you to beat me, and where, and with what. Can I…?”

Mr. Park lets out a long, deep sigh of arousal, his eyes flashing darker. “Oh. Yes. Speak, Yifan. Tell me what you need.”

“The toy you used on me, the night Baek was here,” Kris says. “I never saw it, but it felt different than anything else you’ve used on me. I want to feel it again. Please, sir.”

An eyebrow raises. “The last time I used that on you, you nearly ripped my cross off the wall,” Mr. Park points out.

“I was angry,” Kris whispers. “I’d had to fire someone I thought I could trust, and I was angry.” Mr. Park’s face changes abruptly, shuttering off, and Kris realizes he’s misstepped. He can _not_ bring up the office in a scene! Quickly, he hurries on. “I’m not angry tonight. Please, Mr. Park.”

“Hmm.” Mr. Park moves away, leaving Kris’s back feeling cold. “I’ll let you look at it, first.” He rummages through his drawers for a moment, then comes back, crouching in front of Kris’s face with the toy in his hand.

It’s a flogger, but it’s not like any flogger Kris has ever seen. There are a dozen tails, each tipped with a bright red, tightly twisted leather rose.

“This is… this is _beautiful_.” His chained hands stretch reflexively, and Mr. Park puts the flogger in them, letting him touch. Each rose is a solid knot of leather, heavy and hard, big as a child’s fist. No wonder it felt like getting punched.

“I call it my bouquet.” Mr. Park picks up one of the trailing roses and caresses it, rubbing his thumb over the sueded leather. He looks up, and Kris is suddenly struck by the position they are in, Mr. Park below him and presenting him roses like some twisted perversion of a proposal scene.

Fuck, he’s so handsome. Kris stops breathing.

Kyungsoo’s hand reaches into his vision, breaking the moment. Kris looks away as Mr. Park stands.

“If I’m going to use that on you,” he says, “let’s get you off the bench. You’ve been on there too long anyway.” Kyungsoo takes the bouquet from Kris’s hands, looking it over curiously, as Mr. Park frees Kris from his bonds and helps him off the bench.

Kris’s legs are unsteady from being on his knees for the past hour, and he stumbles a little. Mr. Park catches him, because Mr. Park always catches him, warm hands wrapped around his waist as Kris locks his own in Mr. Park’s shirt for balance. They both stop, staring at each other. Kris’s heart is pounding. Why is this getting him more worked up than the whipping did?

A whooshing noise makes them both look up. Kyungsoo is swinging the bouquet through the air, playing with it, testing it. “This thing is heavy as fuck,” he observes.

“You look good swinging it,” Kris tells him, and means it. The toy seems both romantic and cruel in Soo’s hand, and Kris loves the way his muscles move when he swings.

“Do you want him to try it on you?” Mr. Park asks.

“No,” Kris says immediately, only to realize Kyungsoo has said the same thing, in unison. He flashes Soo a smile. “Kyungsoo isn’t my Dom, Mr. Park.”

Mr. Park jostles him. “You’re mouthy tonight, Yifan.”

“Sorry, sir.” Kris looks up at him and smiles. When Mr. Park doesn’t return the smile, though, his expression fades, and he drops his gaze again. He’s not being a good sub.

“Go lean against the wall, Yifan,” Mr. Park says quietly. Kris silently obeys.

The first strike isn’t hard. The heads of the bouquet hit him in a hail of deep thuds, all across his upper back, very different from the sharp sting he’s used to. It feels lovely, and Kris hums his appreciation and arches, stretching out his back to silently beg for more.

More doesn’t really come. The intensity escalates, but not nearly to the point that Kris wants it to, not anywhere _close_ to what Kris knows Mr. Park is capable of. He’s _felt_ the deep, breathtaking, soul-shaking punch that this toy can deliver, and the fact that Mr. Park is holding back is frustratingly obvious.

He starts to beg again, explicitly telling Mr. Park to hurt him, to punish him, but it doesn’t seem to work. And Mr. Park isn’t even teasing him about it, making Kris think he’s not even holding back on purpose, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

Finally, frustration makes Kris stupid, and he pounds a fist on the wall, looking back over his shoulder. “Are you going to hit me for real, or what?!” he asks.

He expects that the jibe will anger Mr. Park, spur him into action, but that’s not what happens. Instead, Mr. Park’s eyes widen, and his arm drops to his side, the bouquet falling from his fingers to thud heavily on the ground. It feels like it takes Kris’s heart with it.

“I can’t do this,” Mr. Park mutters. “I can’t. You’re my _boss_.” He runs a hand through his hair, wide eyed and looking completely freaked out. “I’m sorry, I can’t. I can’t.”

What is happening? “Mr. Park,” Kris says, turning, reaching to him. Over his shoulder, Kris sees Kyungsoo on his feet doing the same. “Chanyeol - ”

“ _Don’t_. Don’t say my name in this room,” Chanyeol snaps. He looks back at Kyungsoo. “You know where the key is. Lock up when you leave.”

And then he just.

Leaves.

Just like that.

 

~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~

 

It is not a good night for Kris.

He’s too in shock to really function, so Kyungsoo guides him through cleaning up, getting dressed and going home. Watching Kyungsoo put away all of Mr. Park’s toys and rearrange the furniture back to the default position like he _lives_ there makes Kris realize that Mr. Park must have been letting Kyungsoo use the playroom for his sessions with Baek. He can’t even begin to process that right now, though.

Kris doesn’t cry. There’s a couple of moments, particularly when they’re in the car and Kyungsoo is driving with one hand reassuringly on his knee, but he blinks his tears away. He’s too angry at himself to cry. This is the best thing that’s happened to him since Kyungsoo said _sure, one date,_ and Kris can’t believe how badly he’s fucked it up.

Worse, he has no idea how to fix it, or even what to do at all. Should he try to call Chanyeol? But no, that would be crossing a boundary they’d already set; breaking that now will only make things worse. Kris isn’t even certain texting him is a good idea, but not being able to reach out to Chanyeol in _some_ way is fucking _killing_ him.

He’s waiting for Kyungsoo to say _I told you so_. It would be deserved. But fuck, what was he going to do? Signing the contract was the best choice for his company, the people whose livelihoods are in his hands, and there was no fucking way Kris was going to put his own needy dick above his company’s success. And - as he only recently found out - since the advertising agency had literally only hired Chanyeol on a temporary basis for this particular project, to tell them that Chanyeol couldn’t participate would have meant directly getting him fired.

As he stares out the window with his mind spinning in place like a hamster in a wheel, Kris gets the sinking feeling that Chanyeol is right. By offering the contract at all, Kris backed Chanyeol into a corner. He couldn’t have said no; it would have meant losing his job, causing his team to lose the contract, or both. But by saying yes, he’s put himself into a position where the man he makes cry on a regular basis controls not only his own livelihood, but his teammates’ as well.

Closing his eyes, Kris tries to put himself in Chanyeol’s position. Tries to imagine what it would be like to purposely hurt a man who could ruin your life with a word. It’s been so long since he was beholden to someone else to survive, he’s forgotten how restricting it can be.

In his conscious thought, Kris recognizes where Chanyeol is coming from, and understands, on an intellectual level, why he felt he had to stop the session and leave. His heart, however, is a screaming, raw, open wound, too new and too bloody to be able to accept that perfectly reasonable explanation.

The reasonableness of it, his understanding, allows him to hold himself together until they get home, despite his heartache. He doesn’t allow himself to think that this could be the end of his relationship with Mr. Park. No, this is temporary. Just until Chanyeol realizes that Kris would never, not in a million years, _no matter what_ , retaliate against him for something that happened in a scene.

Just until Chanyeol realizes he can trust Kris the way Kris trusts him.

They’re just entering the apartment, literally in the process of taking off their shoes, when Kris feels his phone buzz. It’s a single, long text from Chanyeol. Kris stops where he is in the foyer and thumbs his phone open, his heart ricocheting around wildly in his chest.

_Mr. Park (10:48PM)_  
_I’m really sorry to just abandon you in the middle of a session like that. I don’t really have any excuse for my unprofessional behavior, other than to say that I should never have started the session to begin with, as I knew I was going to have trouble with it. I just wasn’t prepared for how much trouble, I suppose. I apologize._

_I have considered this issue carefully, and tonight settled it for me. I think it would be best if we ended this arrangement._

_Take care. I wish you the absolute best. -PCY_

His hands shaking, Kris immediately thumbs the ‘call’ button. Fuck the boundaries, if Mr. Park has ended it there are no boundaries. Kris just needs to make him see reason, that’s all. It doesn’t have to end now, like this.

It _can’t_ end like this.

A mechanical voice tells him that the number he is trying to reach doesn’t exist, and Kyungsoo’s hand is on his wrist, gently pulling the phone from his grasp and hanging up. “Baby - ”

“What do you mean, it doesn’t exist,” Kris mumbles, his mind roaring with static. “He literally just texted me. Of course the number exists.”

“It’s - I’m sorry, babe. It’s a dummy number. He never gave you his real number.” Kyungsoo bites his lip, like he really doesn’t want to admit this. “He told me to do the same thing with Baek. Just in case, you know?”

Just in case. 

Just in case Kris turned on him. Just in case things went south.

Chanyeol never trusted him, and that hurts more than anything else. Worse, the fact that Kris’s first thought is _well I could just ask HR to look his real number up for me tomorrow_ means that Chanyeol’s instincts are 100% correct, and Kris isn’t as good a man as he wanted to believe.

It’s too much. Kris finally breaks down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [come talk to me!](http://ask.fm/unnie_bee)


	12. Chapter 12

Monday comes, and Kris has done everything he possibly can to pull himself back together.

All weekend, Kris worried himself sick, trying to decide what to do. And all weekend, Kyungsoo held him and babied him and tried to convince him that there was nothing he _could_ do.

Reminding him that it was always a business arrangement, and that Chanyeol has every right to end it.

Reminding him that pushing this boundary after Chanyeol has told him to stop would be harassment, nothing less.

Reminding him that he has an obligation to be professional, to be a _leader_ , no matter what is happening with his emotions.

He doesn’t actually say this part, but it also reminds Kris that he _has_ a boyfriend, a _great_ boyfriend, who loves him very much and whom he loves in return. Kris has apologized to Kyungsoo over and over for getting so worked up about another man, but Kyungsoo won’t hear it. “You care about him a lot, and your relationship was important to you. If I could fix this for you, I would do it.”

Kris already has more than he deserves, _far_ more. He tries very hard to hold that in his mind as he walks into the office on Monday morning, much earlier than usual. He’s a little surprised to see that Joonmyun is already there, but maybe he shouldn’t be. Joon is probably the only person in the company who works harder than he does.

Joonmyun does a double take when he sees Kris. That’s probably because Kris’s hair isn’t silver anymore. It’s blond, a medium ashy blond that he both loves and hates. He understands, now, why girls change their hair after a breakup.

“Oh,” Joonmyun says, glancing around and lowering his voice. As if anyone _else_ is in the building at a quarter to seven. “Um. So you guys _did_ decide to…”

Kris speaks before he thinks. “He made the decision to end it, yes.” Immediately, he winces internally. “For the obvious and very valid reasons, of course.”

Eyeing him, Joonmyun says, “Well, the color looks great on you, sir. Very fashionable.”

That makes Kris laugh, thankful as always for Joonmyun’s discretion. “Fashion is my job, you know,” he says, and Joonmyun grins. “I’m gonna go grab coffee, you want anything?”

“I’ll go with you.” Joonmyun gets up, his day planner in hand, and they fall into step and into conversation as Joonmyun starts going over Kris’s schedule. It’s gonna be a very busy day, which Kris appreciates, for once. He could use the distraction.

They’re seated in the employee lounge, halfway through coffee and pastries and a discussion of how to seduce a particular high-end retail chain into a contract, when a familiar, deep voice makes Kris’s head snap up. Mr. - fuck, wait, no. _Chanyeol_ is there, with Amber and Tao, murmuring his good-mornings with a rough voice and sleepy eyes.

His hair is black. It’s _black_.

Kris resists the urge to jump to his feet. To call out the man’s name. To fall to his knees in front of him and beg like he’s never begged before, _take me back, I can’t do this, I need you_.

Joonmyun’s pen tips over just enough to prod Kris’s wrist, and it drags Kris back to reality. He is at work, and everyone is watching, and Chanyeol’s career is in his hands.

He flashes the group a non-committal smile of greeting and turns back to Joonmyun with some inane, obvious question on his lips. Joonmyun smoothly answers the question as if it was valid, and the conversation gets moving again, and Kris _somehow_ manages to not stare blatantly as the group of them cross his vision to get breakfast from the counter.

Chanyeol’s wearing a green striped shirt and khakis, no tie, sleeves rolled up to display a couple of really rather nice bracelets around his wrists. He’s so handsome, Kris can barely stand it. He looks so unlike Mr. Park, Kris wants to cry. He smiles, and Kris has never wanted to kiss someone more.

Kris does not cry, or kiss him, or anything. Kris forces his attention back to Joonmyun and the _genuinely very important_ subject at hand.

Eventually, the designers leave to start their day. Chanyeol never once meets Kris’s eyes.

 

~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~

 

It takes a full week of forced distance before Chanyeol loosens up enough to acknowledge Kris’s presence, but on Friday afternoon, as the designers are leaving en masse, Chanyeol sticks his head in Kris’s office and wishes him a good weekend, curt but genuine.

Kris almost wishes he hadn’t. His little half-smile cuts deeper than his whips ever did. Fortunately, Kris has plenty of work to do to keep his mind off of the pain, and work he does. The addition of a new perspective, of new ideas, has sparked a torrent of creativity from his designers, and the stack of designs to approve is towering. Kris puts on some music and starts hacking away at the pile.

He’s at it for quite a while, but he doesn’t realize just how long until his door opens and he looks up. Instinctively, he glances at the clock, first, and his eyes widen when he sees the time. It’s after nine already?

“So, were you planning to just sleep here tonight, or…?”

Kyungsoo. In his office. That’s… that’s really weird, honestly, but Kris is always glad to see him. “Soo, I’m sorry,” Kris mumbles, dashing off his last comment and hurrying to put his piles away. “I guess I lost track of time.”

Coming over to the desk, Kyungsoo spins in a circle, taking in the state of Kris’s office. “This place is a wreck. Didn’t you see my texts?”

“Texts? No, I - ” Kris turns his speakers down. “The music must have drowned them out.” He glances at his phone, and sure enough, there are four missed texts from Soo.

Kyungsoo sighs. “Babe, it’s _Friday_. You can stop working now.”

Groaning, Kris drops his head in his hands. “I’m _really_ sorry. It’s just, with the contract, there’s so much more work than usual.”

Lifting a thigh, Kyungsoo perches on the corner of Kris’s desk. “I thought you said it was a hands-off contract,” he says. He’s so gorgeous, Kris just has to scoot his chair closer and slide his hands up Kyungsoo’s thighs to wrap around his hips. “You have final veto power and that’s it.”

“Yeah, for the work the contractors do. They report to Minseok, technically. But any work that comes from my own people still has to go through me. And because we’re expecting this campaign to really take off, Joonmyun and I are pushing like hell for new investors and sales contracts. Can’t let the opportunity go to waste.” Kris drops his head onto Kyungsoo’s thigh and sighs, waving a hand at the stack on his desk. “You see these? In the past week my four-person design team has come up with over a hundred possible ideas. More than that, actually, but these are the hundred Luhan passed up to me. I’ve gotta get it down to about half that, and they better all be quality, you know? There’s gonna be a lot of hype around this new line.”

Kyungsoo strokes his hand over Kris’s hair. “Baby, I know this is an important time for the brand, but it’ll all still be there on Monday. Come on, let’s go home.”

He’s right, of course, so Kris sighs again and pushes himself up. The moment he’s vertical, he stumbles, his vision greying for a second. “Whoa.”

“You okay?” Kyungsoo’s hands are suddenly around his arms, steadying him.

The feeling passes quickly. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just stood up too fast.” He shakes out his head and smiles down at Kyungsoo, still perched on his desk. “Well hello there, beautiful.”

Cocking an eyebrow, Kyungsoo smiles. “Hi, stranger,” he teases, and, ooh, ouch. “Care to go for a ride? I’ll buy you ice cream.”

Kris blinks. “I, uh, should probably eat some dinner, first,” he laughs.

Immediately, the smile drops from Kyungsoo’s face. “You didn’t have dinner? When was the last time you ate?”

 _Lunch, of course,_ Kris almost says, but then he remembers that he skipped lunch, too. Dang. “Um. I had a scone with my coffee?”

Kyungsoo grabs his wrist and hops off the desk. “Come on, let’s get you some food.” Kris follows, pulled helplessly along, and muses not for the first time how lucky he is to have Kyungsoo.

 

~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~

 

The problem with not working is that without the distraction, Kris finds his mind wandering back to Park Chanyeol more often than not.

The fact that he dyed his _own_ hair back to black makes Kris wonder if he’s even still on the scene at all. That was such a huge thing, his trademark. But maybe he always does this when his relationship with a sub ends? Like a period of mourning, or something? But that’s bullshit, because he’s the one who ended it. If anything, it should be Kris dressing all in black and playing sad music and crying in a corner.

Which he does not, by the way.

Kyungsoo does everything he can to keep Kris’s mind off it, and Kris tries to play along, he really does, but the questions, the what-ifs, circle through his head. He sleeps restlessly that weekend, and ends up going into the office at 5AM on Monday, because he might as well get some work done if he’s not going to sleep.

 

~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~

 

“Go home, sir.”

Kris blinks. “It’s only six, Joon.”

“And you’ve been here since six AM. It’s Thursday and you’ve put in over fifty hours _already_ this week. We’re all caught up, everything is going great. Go _home_.”

“I just have to finish this contract before I -”

Joonmyun reaches over and turns off Kris’s monitor. “The contract isn’t due until Wednesday. What is up with you these days? Kyungsoo’s getting worried, you know.”

That makes Kris pause. “Are you two _gossiping_ about me?”

Rolling his eyes, Joonmyun says, “The subject comes up. Look, both of us would have to be complete idiots not to notice the pattern here.” He crosses his arms. “So are you trying to prove something to Chanyeol, or are you just trying to drown your feelings in work?”

Honestly. The nerve. “The link between the end of my relationship with Mr. Park and this uptick in my workload is correlation, not causation,” Kris says sharply. “Both are the result of the contract with the advertising agency. They’re not directly related to each other.”

Joonmyun’s eyebrow feels terribly judgemental, but Kris has had worse, so he ignores it. “You sound like you actually believe that,” he says. “Seriously, though, go home.”

“I don’t pay you to mother me.”

“No, you pay me to manage your time. Which I am doing. Right now.” His eyes soften. “Go home, sir. Eat something, cuddle with your boyfriend, forget about work for at least twelve hours. That’s an order.”

“You’re not my _master_ , either,” Kris grumbles, but he puts his work away and stands. “Fine. Don’t make a habit of this.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, sir.”

 

~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~

 

Kris is a little surprised, but open, when Kyungsoo asks if he can bring Baek around one evening for a playdate. “It’ll be very chill,” he promises. “Just play with him like a dog. He’s asked about you a couple of times so I thought maybe he’d enjoy seeing you again.”

He borrows Kris’s car to go pick Baek up, because it has tinted windows. Kris busies himself tidying up their living room and pulling out all their fluffiest blankets to lay on the couch. Kyungsoo has set up a huge wire dog crate in the corner with a big, squishy dog bed inside, and Kris wonders if that is a normal part of Baek’s roleplay. It must be, right?

Kris wonders if the crate was originally Mr. Park’s idea. It seems like the kind of thing he would come up with.

He spends a little too long deciding what to wear - though Baek has seen him naked and in the most compromising positions possible, he’s still kind of a guest, and Kris kind of wants to make a good impression. Being part of _another_ sub’s scene is a bit new. In the end, he goes for a comfy but flattering cable-knit sweater and jeans, very similar to what Mr. Park was wearing the night Kris met Baek. The correlation is mostly unintentional.

When the door finally opens, Kris is waiting on the couch, flicking through channels idly. The house is immediately filled with the sounds of jingling chain, leather ‘claws’ clacking on the tile of the entryway, and excited panting. It sounds exactly like a puppy entering the house and Kris cannot help his smile.

“Baekkie!” he calls, his tone sweet. The noise stops for a moment, and Kris doesn’t have to look to imagine the boy perking up, cocking his head. “Here, boy!”

“Ah, ah, stay. Stay,” Kyungsoo says, and, oops. Maybe he should have asked. “Hold still, darling. One moment…” There’s more jingling, and then a satisfied noise. “Okay, go ahead.”

Thumping footsteps. Kris stands and moves around the couch, bracing himself just in time to catch a flying Baek in his arms.

“Hi, pupper,” he croons, grinning at the way Baek’s mostly-naked body wriggles excitedly in his arms. “Did you miss me?”

A muffled barking noise, and Baek shoves his head under Kris’s chin, an odd approximation of licking his face. Kris sinks to the ground, folding his legs under him so he can hold Baek properly and give his ears a good scratch.

Kyungsoo comes into the room, a leash coiled in one hand and amusement in his eyes. “He was practically bouncing off the windows the entire car ride,” he says dryly. “I think he missed you.”

“Awww. I missed you too.” Kris drops a couple of theatrical kisses on Baek’s hair and fluffy ears and leather muzzle. “C’mere.” He rolls back, dragging Baek on top of him. Whining and yipping, Baek plays along, wrestling him playfully on the plush carpet. Kyungsoo just laughs at them and goes into the kitchen.

It’s fun, and mindless, to play with Baek this way. Kris tries to remember that Baek is not, in fact, a dog, and that he doesn’t bend in all the same ways a dog might, and that his skin is probably a lot more sensitive than a dog’s fur is. But Baek is very good at playing the part, and the contact and physical play is nice, and eventually they wear themselves out, and collapse into a panting pile on on the ground.

Baek curls up against his chest, his ass swishing gently to make his tail wag. Kris wants to pet his tail, but considering how it’s attached, he’s not sure that’s the best idea. Instead, he scratches Baek’s back, making sure to dig his fingers under the harness. Now that he’s worn one himself, he knows very well how itchy it can get.

Kyungsoo sticks his head through the doorway. “Dinner!” he calls.

Groaning, Kris drags himself up off the floor and heads to the kitchen with Baek keeping pace at his heel.

Kyungsoo’s made a simple meal, a beef hotpot. There are only two places set at the table, and Kris finds out why when Kyungsoo scoops the remainder into a flat, low-sided ceramic bowl and sets it, and a similar bowl of cool water, on the ground next to the table. “Sit,” he says crisply, and Baek sits, his legs folded next to his hips and his forepaws between his knees. Kyungsoo unbuckles his mask and takes out his gag, gently wiping remnants of drool from Baek’s red, stretched lips.

Suddenly, it feels like Kris is watching something personal. He looks away, concentrating on pouring wine for Kyungsoo and himself, trying not to listen as Kyungsoo checks in with Baek in a low voice, making sure he’s okay, he’s still comfortable, he doesn’t need a break.

Then, he sits, and begins eating, asking Kris how the contract negotiations at work are going. They fall into conversation over the food, and though Kris is hyper-aware that there is a beautiful young man literally eating from a dog bowl under the table, he does not look down, does not make a comment. He wouldn’t care if Baek was actually a dog, after all.

That lasts until he feels pressure on his leg, and looks down. Baek’s chin is resting on his thigh, his pretty face exposed for a change, huge, artificially-blue eyes staring up at him soulfully. Kris blinks at him, confused.

Baek looks at Kris’s bowl, then back at Kris, and whines.

Kris bursts out laughing.

“Baek!” Kyungsoo’s tone is stern, but he’s holding back a smile. “No begging! Bad pup!” Baek whines again, looking sad as anything, and Kris can’t take it. He picks up a piece of steak with the back end of his chopsticks and holds it down for Baek to take. “No, don’t - ugh, I should have known you would spoil him.”

“He’s so adorable though,” Kris says, grinning at the expression on Baek’s face when he yips in agreement. “I can’t resist.”

“Pushover.”

Kris shrugs and keeps feeding his dinner to Baek.

After, they do dishes with Baek watching from the corner, and then Kyungsoo asks Kris to pick out a movie. He takes Baek down the hall to the bathroom.

Kris blinks, and then realizes - right. The plug. And Baek can’t use his hands.

That’s - okay, that’s weird.

Busying himself with the movie selection, Kris tries not to think about it.

A while later, they’re back. Baek is in his mask again, and everything seems normal, or as normal as one’s life can be when one has a young man acting as a dog in the house. Kyungsoo calls Baek up onto the couch, and he snuggles between them, warm and content, as Kris starts the movie.

 

~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~

 

Dreams of silver hair, of broad, powerful hands and a soft, deep voice haunt Kris all that night, waking him several times, alternating between a cold sweat and feverish arousal. The last time, Kris just wakes up feeling sick, and he gives up, stumbling out of bed and down the hall to splash water on his face and lean on the sink until the nausea recedes.

Knowing full well he won’t be going back to bed anytime soon, and loathe to wake Kyungsoo, Kris moves out into the living room. It isn’t until he turns on the lamp that he remembers their guest.

“Shit,” he murmurs, immediately turning the lamp back off again. “Sorry, Baek.”

A whine, and a rattling, scratching noise. Kris goes over to the huge dog crate and crouches down. In the dim streetlight filtered through the windows, he can see that Baek is awake, sitting up on his squishy dog bed with concern in his now-brown eyes.

As a safety precaution, Kyungsoo had taken off Baek’s mask and gag, and had him take out the contacts and the plug and wash off his eyeliner before bed. The paws, he’d explained, could stay on; as long as Baek was ungagged he could un-Velcro them with his teeth in an emergency. If he did, he would be able to let himself out of the crate, but as long as he kept them on, he was as trapped as a dog would be, all night in a cage. It made Baek feel secure, Kyungsoo had assured him. Safe.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Kris says softly. Baek whines again, still acting like a dog even though he has full use of his voice now. “I just can’t sleep. I’ll go somewhere else so I don’t bother you.”

Immediately, Baek whines again, pawing at the door. There’s concern in his eyes, more human than canine.

Kris cocks his head. “Should I let you out?” Baek yips. “Alright. Stay quiet, okay?” 

He unlatches the cage. Baek crawls out on his knees, immediately nuzzling into Kris’s arms, one paw-hand coming around Kris’s back in a much-too-human hug. Kris buries his face in Baek’s neck, breathing in his combination of musky leather and crisp makeup remover.

“Will you come cuddle me for a bit?” Kris asks softly, hating that he even feels the need to ask. It feels safe to ask Baek this, though. Baek wouldn’t judge him.

Nuzzling under his ear, Baek licks a tiny stripe against his jawline. Kris thinks that’s probably a yes.

They end up on the couch, Kris laying lengthwise with his head propped on the decorative pillows and Baek sprawled on top of him, his fuzzy fake ears tickling Kris’s chin. Kris pets Baek’s back and shoulders in long, rhythmic motions, letting the smaller man’s heartbeat soothe his own.

“I don’t know if your master told you,” he murmurs, “but Mr. Park left me.” Baek makes a sad, disbelieving noise. “Things got complicated. He accidentally ended up involved in my professional life, and things got weird, and he ended it. I miss him,” he blurts out. “I miss him so much, it’s fucking killing me.”

Baek cuddles closer, pushing his weight down like a very heavy security blanket. Kris tightens his grip, speaking into Baek’s hair.

“I feel like I don’t even have the right to complain, either. Watching S- I mean, your master, with you, it makes me realize how much fucking work it is, being a Dom. It makes me think about everything Mr. Park has done for me, all the times he took care of me, and I never gave him anything in return. I mean, sure, we were _paying_ him, but... that kind of makes it worse? Ugh.”

Silence. Kris’s hands are clenching into Baek’s shoulders; he makes a conscious effort to relax them.

“Yifan…” Kris almost jumps, when he hears Baek actually speak his name. He looks down as Baek props himself up to meet Kris’s eyes. “You gave him your trust. Mr. Park told me once that his greatest reward, the reason he’s been a Dom for so many years, is the gift his subs give him when they give themselves over. You trusted him with your safety, your sexuality, your dignity, everything that you are. You literally could not have given him more.”

Kris takes a deep breath, fighting back the tears in his eyes. “Then why wouldn’t he keep me?” he whispers. “Why did he push me away?”

Baek doesn’t have an answer to that. He just cuddles Kris there on the couch, lapping up his tears and holding him until they both fall back asleep.

 

~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~

 

It’s been two weeks since Chanyeol ended their arrangement, and the last thing Kris expects is for the man himself to offer to take Kris to lunch. “I need to get out of the office for a little while,” is his excuse. “Do you like Thai food?”

Kris does, and he appreciates that the restaurant is not one they ever visited together before. Kris hasn’t been able to go back to that coffee shop, or the park where they used to walk, for two weeks.

Chanyeol waits until the waitress has brought them their drinks before he looks Kris in the eye and asks, very softly and sincerely, “How are you?”

What a fucking question. “Busy,” Kris says, which is true, at least. “How about you? How’s that Vogue Korea spread coming?”

“Kris, I’m not here to talk about work.”

It’s still so strange to hear his name from Chanyeol’s lips, and he speaks before he thinks. “I thought you made it pretty clear that was all we had to talk about.”

Chanyeol flinches visibly, but Kris doesn’t apologize. Chanyeol made this choice; he’s gotta live with the consequences. “Joonmyun and Kyungsoo both approached me - _separately_ \- about you. They’re worried.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. “I’m aware that they’re worried. They’re also busibodies, apparently.” It stings, that they told Chanyeol he’s struggling, especially after he’s made such a monumental effort not to let his emotions affect Chanyeol. “I’m fine. You were right to end it. I…” Shit. It hurts to admit it, but Kris has never been great at lying. “I miss you. But you made the right decision, and I’ll live.”

Chanyeol reaches forward, like he’s about to take Kris’s hands, but then stops himself, folding his hands on the table between them instead. “I shouldn’t have left you hanging like that. Our relationship existed for a reason, after all.” He lowers his voice. “Joonmyun thinks you need another Dom. Do you want me to help you find one? I can make a recommendation.”

Kris understands the reasoning behind the offer. He _does_.

It’s just that the very idea of it makes him feel more than a little bit sick.

“He thinks I can’t handle my own life without escaping into subspace?” Kris growls. “I made it just fine for _years_ without the cuffs, Chanyeol.” Chanyeol’s eyebrows draw together, hurt and consternation on his expressive face, and Kris sighs. “It’s not the domination I miss. It’s _you_. Your voice and your hands and your smile and - look, I’m sorry. I’m not going to try to pretend this isn’t hard for me.” Embarrassingly, his voice cracks. He clears his throat. “It’s hard. I miss you. But I’ll live. And I don’t want another Dom.”

Chanyeol’s lip quirks a little. “I miss you, too.”

Fuck. “Don’t,” Kris says sharply, closing his eyes and sucking in a harsh breath. “Don’t even say that. I can’t handle that.” Chanyeol opens his mouth, but Kris is _emotional_ , now, and he runs Chanyeol’s words right over. “Do you know how many times a day I have to stop myself from attempting to text you? Do have a clue how hard it is to watch you be fucking brilliant and not feel like I have the right to tell you so? Do you even understand how my stomach drops out every time someone says your name?” Chanyeol’s mouth closes, his eyes wide. “I’m dealing. I’m surviving. Please, don’t make it harder. It’s hard enough.”

Sitting back, running a hand through his freshly-dyed black hair, Chanyeol regards him silently for a long moment. Kris tries, but he can’t look him in the eye.

“So,” Chanyeol murmurs. His voice is shaking. “ _That’s_ how it is.”

Kris does look up then, incredulously. “How did you think it was?”

His question is ignored. “What do you want from me, Kris?” The question doesn’t sound rhetorical. “If you could make this situation turn out any way you wanted, what would you choose?”

Does he ever stop pushing? “I would want for us to go back to the way we were,” Kris says truthfully. “And I would want you to remain in the contract, working for the agency on this job. Since I clearly can’t have both, I guess _what I want_ is moot.”

“That’s all?” Chanyeol leans forward again, his expression oddly intense. “That’s all you would want? Nothing more?”

“I…” Only because of the way Chanyeol asks it does Kris consider _more_ as an option. More? More than having Chanyeol active in his work life _and_ his sex life? How much _more_ could they be?

Unless he’s talking about becoming a part of Kris’s home life.

His _love_ life.

Is that what he means?

Has _he_ been thinking about this?

The notion that Chanyeol might want more from their relationship - more closeness, more intimacy, more, well, anything - breaks Kris’s brain. He’s too professional for that. Right?

“What do you mean by _more?_ ” Kris asks urgently. He can see Chanyeol open his mouth to dance around the question, and stops him. “I need you to say it.”

Chanyeol sighs. “You wouldn’t be the first sub to fall in love with me. That’s all.”

It takes Kris a long moment to dissect the torrent of conflicting emotions that results from that simple little statement.

Is he in love with Chanyeol?

Have others felt like this?

Did Chanyeol cut them off, too?

_That’s all?_

Kris stands. He has to. He can’t stay here any longer.

“Kris, I didn’t mean to -”

Kris fumbles out his wallet and drops 40,000 won on the table. “Have a good lunch, Chanyeol. It’s on me.”

He goes, before either of them can make more of a scene.

 

~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~

 

_Kris (1:02PM):_  
_Am I in love with Mr. Park?_

_Soo (1:05PM):_  
_Um. Yes?_

_Kris (1:06PM):_  
_I’m being serious, Soo._

_Soo (1:08PM):_  
_So am I. Are you just now figuring this out? I’ve known for weeks._

 

Kris sits back in his desk chair and stares at his phone. How does he even react to that?

 

_Kris (1:12PM):_  
_Apparently I’m the last to know. I’m sorry, baby._

_Soo (1:14PM):_  
_Why are you sorry? It’s cute that you didn’t realize it._

_Kris (1:15PM):_  
_I’m sorry because I accidentally fell in love with another man. You deserve better._

_Soo (1:18PM):_  
_Babe, if it bothered me, you would have known it. You never neglected me or anything. Hell, I think we’ve spent MORE time together since you became his sub. And it’s not as if either of you is opposed to sharing._

_Kris (1:20PM):_  
_< 3_

_Soo (1:20PM):_  
_I love you too. Are you okay?_

 

Before Kris can answer, there’s a knock on his door. It’s Chanyeol. Kris bounds to his feet instinctively, startled.

“Hey. You gave me, like, twice as much as I needed, so… here.” He holds out a takeaway container.

Chanyeol brought him _lunch?_ Kris crosses the room and takes it from him.

Dark eyes pin him to the spot. “Kris, I - ” Kris shuts up this time, waiting to hear him out, but Chanyeol’s stumbling over his words just as badly as Kris usually does. Eventually, he just sighs. “I’m really sorry.”

Kris feels his lips twist into a little mockery of a smile. “Yeah. Me too.”

Chanyeol leaves, and Kris sets the food down on his desk. It smells great, but Kris knows he isn’t going to eat it.

_Kris (1:27PM):_  
_No. Not really._

 

~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~

 

He somehow manages to make it through the entire day before he breaks down sobbing, _again_ , in Kyungsoo’s arms.

 

~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~

 

Another Monday comes and Kris is fine. He’s talked it all out with Soo, and done some navel gazing to determine what he feels and what he wants and what his next actions will be, and he’s fine.

He is _fine_.

All of Monday goes by without him even seeing Chanyeol, and then on Tuesday, when they pass in the halls, Kris manages a genuine smile and nod, and tries not to live too much in the smile he gets in return. He’s in meetings the rest of the afternoon and evening, so he doesn’t get the chance to dwell, and he thinks that’s probably good. As it is, he’s a little hazy, a little distracted, and his mind keeps going back to that smile no matter how hard he tries to forget it. By the end of the day, he’s so out of it, he just goes straight home and crashes, sleeping in uneasy fits and starts for twelve hours.

Wednesday morning there’s a meeting, bright and early, to go over the progress of the ad campaign so far. Chanyeol’s mockups are brilliant, and Kris knows he’s done the right thing by allowing him the contract, but it’s so _difficult_ not to just… jump across the table and kiss his stupid handsome face and tell him how amazing he is.

Kris refrains, and the presentation finishes without incident. Most of the room gets up and filters out, but Luhan has some kind of a question for Chanyeol about how he wants the new suit designs to fit into his ad proposals, and so Kris finds himself remaining where he is, going over the presentation packet with Joonmyun and debating whether they should show the progress at the next investor's meeting. He only glances up at Chanyeol three times, which he thinks is pretty good, all things considered.

Finally, though, Joonmyun reminds him of his next appointment, and he can't make excuses for staying in the room any longer.

He gets up.

 

~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~

 

The next thing Kris knows, he's blinking his eyes open. There are harsh fluorescent lights above him, and faces staring down at him, and... hands? On his shoulders?

"What happened?" he asks. Or tries to. It comes out more like _whahaoh_.

"Whoa, hey," a familiar deep voice says. "Stay put. Are you back with us now?"

Kris blinks again. The blurriness just won't fade, and it takes way too long for him to recognize Mr. Park with his hair jet black like that. But it's him, it's definitely him, his touch so familiar and his voice concerned.

"'m... here..." Kris mutters, through a mouth that feels like cotton balls. He tries to sit up, and finds his body clumsy and unresponsive. Mr. Park's grip tightens, gently pressing him down, and the fight leaves Kris's body. He obeys, going limp, and brings one hand up to hang on to Mr. Park's arm instead.

"I'm still calling an ambulance," another voice says, and only because Kris recognizes Joonmyun's crisp, businesslike tone does he realize he's not coming back from a particularly intense scene.

He's at work. On the floor. With Chanyeol crouched over him.

What?

"I think that's probably a good idea," Chanyeol is saying, and it takes _far_ too long for Kris to figure out what he's referring too. "It might be nothing, but he should get checked out anyway."

Kris's focus comes back enough that he can see Joonmyun dialing, and he holds out a hand. "No, no ambulance," he says, and wow, that word is difficult to say when your tongue is all mushy. "I'm fine. I'm fine."

"Kris, you fainted," Chanyeol says, his tone deep and very serious. "Until we know why, we shouldn't take chances. You need to go to the hospital."

Fainted? What? "Then take me," Kris says, and, oh, he didn't actually mean it to come out that breathy and suggestive. Awkward. " _Drive_ me to the hospital. But no ambulance." He can't imagine the gossip if he were to get carted out of his own building on a stretcher.

"Well," Joonmyun says, slowly closing his phone, "he _is_ coherent enough to form sentences, and he was only unconscious for a few minutes. He's probably okay to go in a car?"

Chanyeol nods. "I'll take him," he says, in a tone that dares anyone in the room to argue. "Joonmyun, would you notify his next of kin and have them meet us there?"

The significant glance between them makes Kris realize they're talking about Kyungsoo, and the way he talks around the subject makes Kris realize Luhan and a couple of others are still in the room, hovering, distressed. Shit. This is so fucking embarrassing.

"The meeting - " Kris says, remembering.

Joonmyun nods. "I'll take care of it."

"Can you stand?" Chanyeol asks.

Blinking, Kris focuses on him. "I can try," he says, and holds out his hand. Chanyeol takes it and carefully pulls him to his feet.

They go slow, and Kris has to lean heavily on Chanyeol, at first. It takes him a minute to get his feet under him, to get moving, to get down the hall to the elevator. When the door closes, Kris leans half on the wall and half on Chanyeol, throwing an arm around his waist for stability. "What the fuck happened?" he asks groggily.

"I wasn't looking," Chanyeol says softly, "but Joonmyun said you stood up and your eyes rolled back in your head. You went straight down, like your legs just collapsed underneath you."

Kris frowns. "Your voice is shaking," he observes under his breath.

"He caught you. The man has catlike reflexes, I've never seen anything like it. Caught you before you could hit your head on the table. He might have saved your life."

"Chanyeol," Kris says, and Chanyeol looks down at him, and there it is, the fear that he's been covering up, that's been bleeding through in his voice. "I'm okay."

Chanyeol pulls him close, wraps him in a hug. "You scared me," he mutters, gutturally low and a little bit broken. "Joonmyun yelled and I turned around and you were _on the floor_."

He shouldn't, but Kris clings to Chanyeol's lean, strong frame anyway. If anyone asks, it's just because his balance is still off. "I feel fine," Kris reassures him. "Woozy. But that's it. I'm sure it's nothing. Just a fluke, a random body chemistry thing."

The elevator jerks to a stop, and they pull apart before the door can open. Chanyeol makes to keep his arm around Kris's waist, but Kris pulls away from him, and walks unsteadily on his own two feet the few meters from the elevator, past the security checkpoint, to the door to the garage. There, Chanyeol comes up to his side again, and Kris lets him.

"You literally just did that so your staff wouldn't see you struggling, didn't you?" Chanyeol says. "So proud."

Kris huffs. "There aren't many people who I allow to see me be weak, no," he says pointedly.

Chanyeol doesn't respond to that. 

By this point, Kris feels like he could probably walk on his own without issue, but Chanyeol's arm feels so nice and strong, and there's no one around, and he is _tired_. So he lets himself indulge in the feeling of Chanyeol holding him, just this once.

The sleek black car is achingly familiar. There was a part of him that had wondered if Chanyeol had kept a separate car for his exploits as Mr. Park, but of course that would not be very practical. He’s probably had business associates and subs and friends and family in this car.

“Do you have family?” Kris asks suddenly, as Chanyeol puts the car in gear.

A look of confusion.

“Family.” Kris shifts in his seat, leaning his head against the window. “I’m an only child. My parents are both gone, that’s how I got the business. I’ve got two uncles and an aunt but they’re all sore my parents didn’t leave them anything so they won’t speak to me.” Chanyeol is silent, so Kris keeps talking. “Kyungsoo has a brother, and both his parents, and a bunch of extended family. I go to his mother’s house for holidays.”

“You don’t return to China anymore?”

Kris lifts his head. “What?”

Chanyeol doesn’t look at him, his eyes on the road. “That’s where you were born, right? After I found out your real name, I looked you up.” His gaze flicks over to Kris momentarily. “Were we not making small talk to keep you awake? I assumed that was what we were doing.”

Chuckling, Kris flops heavily back into the seat again. “Sure, that’s it. Yeah, I was born in China. Parents sent me to high school and university in Canada while they got the label running, and then I came back here and worked for my father for a few years.”

“Then the accident,” Chanyeol murmured. “Making you the youngest fashion tycoon in the world.”

Kris’s laugh comes out more like a hiccup. “I’m not sure I make the cut for _tycoon_ ,” he says. “I just. My parents left _everything_ to me. Not just their assets, but their business, the name they’d created for themselves, their _reputation_. Not my uncles, not my aunt. _Me._ I can’t - ”

A large hand lands on his knee, but Chanyeol is silent, still watching the road. Kris takes a deep breath.

“In their memory, the company _will_ succeed. There is no other choice.”

“You can’t sacrifice your health for your work,” Chanyeol murmurs.

Huffing, Kris says, “I didn’t think that I _was_. It’s not like I faint on the regular, you know.”

“Hah. Yeah, I know.” Dark eyes glance his way. “I’m fully aware how much you can take.”

Kris is too tired and out of it to call him on his inappropriate innuendo bullshit, so he just falls silent, and lets that do the calling out for him. He doesn’t, however, move Chanyeol’s hand off his knee.

 

~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~

 

Chanyeol forces Kris to stay awake until the emergency room doctor checks him over and tells them it’s okay to let him fall asleep.

When he wakes an indeterminate amount of time later, he is groggy and foggy in the way that only an unexpected mid-afternoon nap can bring, and it takes him too long to register the familiar tones of the low conversation around him.

“Soo?” he asks, his mouth even fuzzier than before.

“I’m here, baby.”

Familiar fingers slide into his right hand, and then, a moment later, thicker and rougher fingers, no less familiar, slide into his left. Kris blinks his vision back into focus, and sees Kyungsoo and Chanyeol standing over him, on either side.

He feels oddly dumbstruck. “You’re still here,” he says, to Chanyeol.

“Did you think I would leave?”

Why wouldn’t he? “Yes,” Kris says truthfully. He squeezes Kyungsoo’s hand - and then also Chanyeol’s, because, well, just because - and then pulls away and struggles his way into sitting up. Both of them leap forward immediately, four hands on his shoulders like he’s an invalid or something. This is ridiculous. “Did they drug me? Why do I feel so gross?”

“Mr. Wu?” a new voice says. They all look up. A woman is entering the room, all clacking heels and hair in a high bun and glasses that seem to judge him. “Good, you’re awake. I’m Doctor Choi.” Kris shakes her hand. “I have the results from the blood test. Would you like to speak in private?”

Something in her eyes is hesitant. She’s giving him an out, in case he wants to talk to her alone, but if it’s very bad news then he’d far rather have Kyungsoo and Chanyeol with him. “They can stay,” he says.

She nods, and opens her folder. “You’re dehydrated,” she says, “and your body is in starvation mode.”

“Oh, Kris,” Kyungsoo says softly.

“What?” Chanyeol looks startled.

The doctor looks between them, but no one says anything else, so she moves on. “Your blood sugar level is very low,” she says, “which is probably why you fainted. Other nutrient and hormone levels show you to be in the early stages of starvation.”

It takes Kris too long to parse what she’s saying, what it means. Frantically, his mind skims back over the last few days, the last few weeks. _Starvation?_ He’s been eating just fine!

Hasn’t he?

...Shit.

“You don’t seem to be too surprised,” Doctor Choi says gently. “Has this been a problem in the past?”

Kris drops his head into his hands, too embarrassed to answer her. Kyungsoo answers for him. “Not this severe, no,” he says, “but he does forget to eat, sometimes.”

The doctor eyes them both. “When was the last time you ate a meal?” she asks.

Kris has to think, and that alone means it’s bad. “Breakfast,” he finally says. “Yesterday.” At his side, Kris feels Chanyeol stiffen in shock. “I’ve been very busy,” he mumbles into his hands. It’s a pathetic excuse, and he knows it. Has he really been so mentally screwed up the last few weeks that he’s _starved_ himself? _Accidentally?_ Who does that?!

Shit, he should have let the doctor tell him in private. Now Chanyeol’s going to assume it was _his_ fault. Or think that Kris can’t handle his own stress. Or both.

“Stress-related loss of appetite is very common,” the doctor tells him. “Do you think that could be the cause? Your record shows no history of eating disorders, but I can refer you to psychiatrist, if you would like.”

“No,” Kris says immediately, lifting his head. “That won’t be necessary.”

She eyes him. “I can give you all the gory details of what even _mild_ starvation can do to your body, if that would help.”

“No, no, that’s okay.” Chanyeol and Kyungsoo look freaked out enough. “I literally just forget to eat sometimes. I’ll be more conscientious in the future. I can set an alarm on my phone if I have to.”

The doctor doesn’t look too convinced, but she can’t force him into any kind of treatment and they both know it. “Alright. I’ll process your release. Be careful with your meals for a few days, okay? Your body may not be able to handle a big meal for a while. Eat a lot of smaller, nutrient rich-meals and drink a glass of water every other hour at least until you feel normal again. If there are any other symptoms, call us immediately.”

Kris nods, feeling chided. The doctor leaves. The moment the door closes, Kris’s eyes flutter shut.

“Alright,” he says grimly. “Let me have it.”

Kyungsoo plops heavily on the bed next to him. “I’m not gonna _yell_ at you, baby.”

“Why not? I’d deserve it.”

“I should be the one who gets yelled at. I can’t believe I didn’t realize you were doing this again.”

Kris eyes him incredulously. “I am a grown-ass man and if I forget to eat, it’s my own damn fault.”

“Kris - ”

“Does this really happen a lot?” Chanyeol asks suddenly. Kris looks up, and finds him wide-eyed.

Sighing, Kyungsoo says, “It hasn’t for months, but yeah, this happens sometimes. He gets caught up in his responsibilities and forgets.”

“Months.” Chanyeol purses his lips. “Like, since you first hired me? That many months?”

“You’re a real arrogant son of a bitch sometimes, you know that?” Kris snaps. “You _beating me_ is not the cure to my woes, Chanyeol.”

“Never underestimate the therapeutic power of a good beating,” Chanyeol says. “And yes, I’m aware I’m arrogant, thanks for noticing.” He sits on the bed as well, by Kris’s knees, where he can look Kris straight in the eye. “Please, Kris,” he says, his tone abruptly softening. He’s begging, and it’s fucking _weird_. “You can’t let this happen again. When I saw you on the floor, I - ” His hands clench in his lap, twining around each other like worried dogs. “Promise me you won’t let this happen again.”

Just like that, Kris’s annoyance flies, leaving behind only a deep-seated ache. “Yes, Mr. Park,” he murmurs.

For a split second, Chanyeol’s face compresses in agony. Then it’s gone, like it was never there, replaced with a calm facade that Kris knows all too well. “Brat,” Chanyeol says gruffly. “You should go eat.”

“It’s nearly dinner time anyway,” Kyungsoo agrees. “We’ll go out. Chanyeol, you should join us.”

A brief, unhumorous laugh. “I really should not,” Chanyeol replies. “I’m blurring the line too much as it is. Until this contract is over, we really should not see each other outside of a professional context.”

“Yeah, staying by my sickbed is super professional,” Kris mumbles. Chanyeol hears him and visibly ignores him. “Wait,” Kris says, realizing. “ _Until_ the contract is over?”

Chanyeol’s mouth flattens. “At least.”

That’s better than forever. That’s… that’s a _lot_ better than forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [come talk to me!](http://ask.fm/unnie_bee)


	13. Chapter 13

The remote possibility that this painful separation is temporary gives Kris just enough encouragement to stop his absent-mindedly self-destructive behavior. He does set an alarm on his phone to remind him to eat during the day, until it becomes a habit again.

The marketing project moves at an insane pace, all things considered. Within a few weeks, the designs for the new line are finalized and sent to their production partners, new contracts with two major clothing store chains and a number of smaller ones are signed, and the TV spots and advertisements are ready to be produced.

Minseok invites him to the photoshoots for the print advertisements. Kris knows it’s because he, like the rest of the marketing team, is still hoping to get Kris to model for the brand someday, but it’s also just an important day in general, so Kris agrees to attend.

Chanyeol is also at the venue, because of course he is. They’re _his_ advertisements. He’s directing, so Kris is quiet when he walks in, hanging back and watching Chanyeol order other people around for a change. His demeanor is different in a work setting, but shades of Mr. Park’s complete control bleed through in his posture, his voice. He knows what he wants, and everyone around him hurries to obey. 

Leaning his hip on the table of snacks set up against the back wall, Kris grabs a bottle of water, cracks it open, and settles in. No one is paying him the slightest bit of attention, so he can focus all of his own attention on Chanyeol without fear. It’s a nice view, to be sure, but the fondness that curls slowly through his chest has little to do with the view, and everything to do with the way Chanyeol has the entire room scurrying around to do his bidding.

He’s been sort of quietly coming to terms with the fact that he’s in love with Chanyeol, spending some time with the idea like a new roommate he’s not quite sure about yet. Moments like this, when he can really bathe in the feeling, really inspect it and live in it and pay attention to it, have been sparse, so he takes advantage.

It’s different than his love for Kyungsoo, that’s for sure. Kyungsoo’s love is a total partnership, a solid foundation. Kris’s feelings for Chanyeol are more volatile and more emotional, based in excitement and need and affection and pride.

He thinks, if he didn’t already have Kyungsoo, he would be in much worse shape right now. As it stands, his pining is controllable, bearable. He can admire from a distance, and handle the pain that distance brings.

Chanyeol probably does not feel the same way as Kris does, and Kris is learning to bear that, too. He cares for Kris, in his own fashion. That will have to be enough.

Kris observes the room for a full half an hour before Chanyeol notices him there and does an adorably startled double-take. He beckons Kris forward, and Kris goes, unthinkingly obeying.

“You don’t have to lurk in the shadows,” Chanyeol says. “We do have _chairs_ , you know.”

“I like to lurk,” Kris says, but he takes a chair next to the editing station and prepares himself to actually give some kind of useful creative input.

It’s an interesting afternoon. This is a part of the business that Kris doesn’t get to participate in as often, and he finds himself unable to hold back his suggestions and ideas.

The thing that he likes best about the entire campaign, and about Chanyeol’s advertisements in particular, is that they are sexy without being _sexual_. They’re promoting the business attire line, and everyone in the marketing agency had agreed that any genuinely sexual or suggestive imagery would be inappropriate, and, as Amber put it, ‘totally overdone anyway.’

Chanyeol’s advertisements aren’t created to promise sex. They promise _power_. And Kris can see Chanyeol’s experiences in the scene stamped all over his advertisements.

They’re put together with a simple formula. A faceless model, cropped cleverly to show off a detail of their clothing. A contrasting, richly jewel-toned background. Stark white text with a word or three to convey an attitude. And the logo of the brand, discreet in the corner.

Very simple. Very impactful. It’s a format that can be used in dozens of ways and still be immediately recognizable. A woman’s legs, standing with stance spread, in crisp slacks and sharp heels. A man’s broad shoulders from behind, showcasing the tailored cut of a suitcoat. Kris’s favorite is the one of a woman’s waist and hips, from the side, that focuses _not_ on her very lovely ass, but rather on the fact that her skirt has pockets.

“When are we getting you in front of that camera, Boss?” Minseok asks.

Ah yes, there it is. “Never,” Kris says lazily.

“Hmmm.” The deep sound of Chanyeol’s hum makes Kris look up. “That’s too bad. I know just what I would do with you, too.”

Kris’s eyebrows hit the roof, but the challenge in that is too much to ignore. “If I have to do it, you do too,” he shoots back.

A grin. “Deal.”

Fine. “You’re on.” Kris ignores the excited murmurs from the crew and stands, holding out his hands. “How do you want me?”

It’s not really meant to be suggestive, but Chanyeol’s eyes darken, a familiar gaze that makes Kris take a deep breath. He’s working. No sliding into subspace.

“That purple suit coat,” Chanyeol says thoughtfully, “and the eggshell shirt with the...” He gestures at his wrist. “The cool cuffs.” Kris raises an eyebrow, and Chanyeol lowers his voice. “Keep your rings on.”

His hands, then. Fair enough. As long as his face isn’t shown, it’s fine. Kris goes to the dressing rooms to change.

He’s never modeled before, but he _has_ obeyed Chanyeol’s directions before, so it feels easy. He just concentrates on keeping his face neutral as he is posed. The shot they end up using is one of him adjusting his cufflinks, hands and wrists against the backdrop of the deep purple suit coat. Kris leans over the editor’s chair and watches as a few simple tweaks bring out the colors, highlight the size and strength of his hands, show off the unusual style of the cuffs. It’s a powerful shot.

“The purple looks great with his skin tone,” Minseok comments, sounding surprised.

Chanyeol looks up at Kris with a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. “I knew it would.” Kris suddenly remembers the first photo he sent to Mr. Park, of his own hand pulling aside his dark purple shirt to reveal the black leather harness, and feels a flush steal over his cheeks.

Chanyeol sees it, and seems to suddenly realize what he’s done. Clearing his throat, he pulls away.

Well. Good to know he’s having as much trouble letting go as Kris is. That’s something, anyway.

Chanyeol lets Minseok dress him, and then stands on the set with hands spread and looks at Kris expectantly. “I’m all yours,” he says.

The room is silent. Everyone is curiously waiting, because Kris has always been involved in the business and designing aspects, but never in the marketing, the advertising, the branding. It’s a different type of creativity and they’re all curious to see what he comes up with.

Kris thinks for a second, pacing a slow circle around Chanyeol, looking him up and down. The suit Minseok has put on him is stunning. Worse, it’s grey, a dark steel grey that looks too familiar on Chanyeol’s long, lean body.

“We need an armchair,” Kris says finally, an image starting to form in his mind. “Leather, if you can find it.”

“There’s a prop room down the hall,” Minseok says. “I think I saw something we could use.” He takes a couple of the staff with him and minutes later they’re back with a small club chair upholstered in mahogany red leather. It’s not the high, stately wingback chair he was envisioning, but they’re only going to be photographing the bottom half of it anyway.

“Perfect,” Kris says. “Let’s put it over there.” And he starts to direct.

It’s weird, telling Chanyeol what to do. As he calls out instructions and changes Chanyeol’s position in the chair, Kris is very aware of Chanyeol’s unwavering gaze, dark and focused, all his attention on Kris.

After trying a bunch of poses - legs crossed and uncrossed, lean forward or back, hands on thighs, hands on chair arms, hands clasped between the knees - they finally choose a shot. From the waist down, long slim legs in long slim slacks, one ankle resting on the opposite knee and one hand resting on the ankle. The shot is taken from a slightly low angle, emphasizing the incredible length of Chanyeol’s legs and giving the viewer a sense of smallness in comparison.

Everyone is very complimentary, which Kris takes with a grain of salt, since he is their boss. All that matters is that Chanyeol seems to like it. He calls a wrap, saying they have enough for the day, and both he and Kris roll up their sleeves to help with breakdown.

An hour later, they are the last to leave, and Kris finds himself falling into step with Chanyeol as they walk back to the studio’s parking garage. “You have a good eye,” Chanyeol says conversationally. “And your staff really like you.”

Kris shrugs and fights back a blush. “I inherited both from my parents,” he says.

Chanyeol snorts. “Doesn’t mean it’s not true. Or that you don’t deserve your staff’s trust. You’re a great leader, Kris, and they all know it.”

Something about the way he says it, the… the _fondness_ in his tone, makes Kris stop where he is, and turn and face him. “Is that what you see, when you look at me?” he asks, his volume low but his tone intense. “A leader? Or do you see me on my knees?”

Dark eyes blink at him in surprise. “They’re not mutually exclusive, Kris. You can be both.”

For fuck’s sake. “I _know that_ , Chanyeol. I’m not asking which I _am_ , I’m asking what _you_ see.”

“Ah.” Understanding dawns. “I see both, Kris. You _are_ both. You are as strong when you are bound on your knees as you are when you lead your company. It takes confidence, trust, and faith to allow someone to hang you from the ceiling, and it takes confidence, trust and faith to be your own man when everyone is measuring you against your parents’ legacy.” Kris drags in a sharp breath, the words hitting him like a punch in the gut. Chanyeol must see it, because he reaches forward, his hand landing on Kris’s arm, twitching like he meant to move further but stopped himself in time. “I don’t like that we had to stop our arrangement,” he says sincerely, “but I’m glad I get to see you like this. I really, honestly admire you. A lot.”

Kris steps forward, unconsciously, his body moving without his mind. “Can you not say shit like that, please?” he asks plaintively. “Can you just like, be a total asshole for one fucking minute so I can get some distance? How the fuck am I supposed to get over you when you keep being wonderful all the fucking time?!”

Chanyeol bursts out laughing. It isn’t fucking funny in the slightest, and worse, his laughter is beautiful and shy, a pleased, embarrassed blush abruptly blooming on his face. Kris’s stomach jumps, flips, does a fucking barrel roll.

He surges forward and kisses Chanyeol hard, cutting his bemused laughter right off.

A deep gasp puffs against his mouth. Chanyeol’s grip on his arm tightens like a vise, squeezing, but he doesn’t push away. Kris has never been aggressive with him like this before, never been the one to initiate a kiss, never fucking pushed him until his back hit the wall. When it does, it’s like a switch is flipped, and suddenly Chanyeol surges up against him, giving back as good as he gets.

Teeth dig into his lower lip and pull. Kris melts and burns, snarling against the pain, pressing closer. His hands are everywhere, eagerly mapping out the body he’s never been allowed to freely touch, his fingers curling with pleasure against the strikingly hard leanness of Chanyeol’s limbs under his fashionable shirt.

Chanyeol’s own hands are sliding down his back, dragging him closer, wrapping possessively around his ass and squeezing hard. Kris’s hips rock forward, and his thickening, bulging cock presses into Chanyeol’s hips, and, oh, fuck, Chanyeol is hard, he’s _rock_ fucking hard and Kris realizes with a start that he’s never really had the chance to feel him like this. That incredible cock has been in his mouth and in his hands and pressed roughly against and inside his ass, but never against his own cock, not for longer than a few seconds of teasing, because they’ve never held each other face-to-face before, on the same level, as equals.

Want and need and _love_ flood him. Kris moans, too loud, too wanton, and rolls his body heavily forward, his tongue begging at Chanyeol’s lips.

Chanyeol breathes out shakily, right into Kris’s mouth. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he whispers. “We need to stop.”

“No,” Kris growls. He slides his hands down and grabs Chanyeol’s ass, hauling him even closer, a liberty he’s never dared take before. Their erections grind heavily together and Chanyeol’s ass is super small and tight and firm and Chanyeol groans like he loves it.

“ _We should stop,_ ” he says again, but even as he says it his hips are rolling, every thrust sending pleasure spiking through Kris’s trapped cock. “We’re _working_.”

“Not right at the moment, we aren’t,” Kris points out. “I’d say we’re off the clock. Fucking _hell. Chanyeol._ ” He angles his face to the side and latches his mouth high onto the straining tendon in Chanyeol’s neck. Chanyeol makes the most incredible, beautiful, helpless noise of arousal, and Kris has never in his life wanted so badly to make someone fall apart. It would be payback.

A big, broad hand slides up and into Kris’s hair, cupping the back of his head. “You’re terrible,” Chanyeol murmurs. “How the fuck do you keep screwing with my control like this?”

Hah. That shouldn’t make Kris flush with triumph, but it does. Serves him right. “Is big bad Mr. Park having some control issues?” he taunts.

The hand in Kris’s hair fists abruptly, dragging his head up. Pain shoots down Kris’s neck, and he gasps, and his cock _throbs_ , heavily enough that he knows Chanyeol can feel it.

They stare at each other for a long moment. Kris breaks it by thrusting forward, finding just the right angle so that both trapped cockheads rub deliciously together. Chanyeol’s eyes roll back, eyelids fluttering shut, an expression of pure, mindless pleasure. “Chanyeol,” Kris purrs.

“Fuck,” Chanyeol whispers back. “You fucking brat. Ah, god, _Kris._ ”

His name, like that, moaned in desire in that familiar voice, nearly sends Kris right off the edge. His hips work rhythmically, harder and harder, and Chanyeol is meeting his thrusting halfway now, his grip on Kris’s hair pulsing in time with his cock.

“Come on,” Kris murmurs. “I want to see you come. I want to see your face. Come on, Yeol.” He has no idea where the nickname comes from, but Chanyeol shudders violently in his arms, looking lost.

It’s not long after that. They find the perfect angle, the perfect pace, and pleasure ramps up fast. Kris is seconds from explosion when Chanyeol loses it, the first time ever that Chanyeol has come first, and the first time Kris is able to really watch his face when he does. He’s impossibly, ethereally beautiful, and Kris is dragged over the edge with him as if pulled, his own orgasm hitting him a few moments later.

Chanyeol’s grip on his hair loosens, and Kris instinctively curls in, bending to press his face into Chanyeol’s neck. They stand and catch their breath.

“That,” Chanyeol says, “was a _spectacularly_ bad idea.”

Kris’s heart jolts, in a different way this time. “Can you not kill the afterglow, please?”

“Kris - ”

“Shut up. I’m basking.”

Chanyeol’s chuckle rumbles against Kris’s chest. “You’re a _huge_ brat,” he says, but he doesn’t pull away.

Not at first.

But a few moments pass, and Kris feels Chanyeol’s hands twitch, and Chanyeol takes a deep, deep breath that sounds too shaky. “Seriously,” he says. “This is… this isn’t good.”

Kris closes his eyes and braces himself. “You didn’t stop me,” he points out. “You could have, but you didn’t.”

“I _should_ have,” Chanyeol says, sounding upset, sounding distressed. “This isn’t just unprofessional, it’s _cruel_. I can’t keep fucking - I don’t know. Leading you on. I have to be stronger than this.”

Straightening up, Kris looks Chanyeol in the eyes. “If it’s that hard for you to stay away from me,” he says, very seriously, “maybe you need to consider _why_.”

Chanyeol’s eyes squeeze shut. “I’m trying not to,” he mutters.

He pushes Kris off of himself. Kris steps back, ignoring the gross stickiness inside his designer underwear and the matching wet patch on Chanyeol’s equally designer slacks. Chanyeol remains slumped against the wall, looking smaller, younger and more lost than Kris has ever seen.

“Don’t do this,” Kris begs him, soft and sincere. “You don’t have to do this.”

Chanyeol shakes his head. “I do,” he says. “For both of our sakes, and for… for Kyungsoo’s, too. I’m sorry.” His eyes open, and he looks up. “I’m really sorry. This is completely my fault.”

Kris steps forward again. “Chanyeol - ”

A hand pressed against his chest halts him. “Don’t. God, I’m so sorry. Please try to forget about… this.”

He pushes off the wall and walks away, shoulders hunched. Kris slumps against the wall in his place, watching him go, his mind filled with confused, numbing white noise.

 

~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~

 

The ad campaign is a massive success.

Sales skyrocket. Public interest and brand recognition does, too. Social media is buzzing and the products keep selling out. Joonmyun has his hands full with the massive amount of incoming calls, and Kris actually has to _turn down_ a few store contracts because their production facilities already can’t keep up with the demand.

All that is great, but literally the only thing on Kris’s mind is the end of the contract, and the possibility that it might mean getting Chanyeol involved in his life again.

They celebrate the end of the marketing project with a full-company dinner, during which Kris is obligated to sit with the investors and be suave and entertaining. Kyungsoo is at the dinner too, but he’s not sitting with Kris, since only a few people in the company know Kris is gay. He’s sitting with Joonmyun, who happens to be sitting with Chanyeol, and Kris would give nearly anything to be at that table and not at a table of men far older and richer than he is who look at him but speak to his father.

After dinner, Kris gets up and speaks, thanking everyone for their hard work and sharing some numbers to illustrate just exactly how successful the project has been. He closes out with a couple of words about the company’s plans going forward, and specifically thanks the marketing agency and wishes them well on their endeavors in the future.

Soon after, he’s bowing and shaking hands as people are leaving. Joonmyun tells him the department heads are taking the marketing agency out for norebang and drinks, and he and Kyungsoo should come. Kris protests, saying that no one wants to sing in front of their boss. Joonmyun pushes, but Kris spots Kyungsoo speaking quietly but earnestly with Chanyeol in the corner, and bows out before his admin can say another word, crossing the room.

They notice him before he can get close enough to hear what they’re discussing. Chanyeol pulls away quickly, like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t, which makes both Kris and Kyungsoo look at him questioningly.

“They’re going for norebang,” Kris says, jerking his thumb at the group starting to gather at the last occupied table. “If we want to avoid getting dragged along, we should probably get going.”

Kyungsoo nods. Kris knows that Kyungsoo has a spectacular voice, but he also knows that Kyungsoo loathes norebang. “Come with us,” Kyungsoo says to Chanyeol.

Kris’s heart thumps. Chanyeol’s eyes widen a little, surprise quickly covered. “I should probably go with my team,” he says, but he’s hesitating, Kris can hear it.

“There’s a cake shop down the street,” Kris says quickly. “It’s great. I’ll treat you. Way better than watching your drunken co-workers butcher old trot music.”

That makes Chanyeol laugh. “Alright,” he says. “Let me get my coat.”

They end up leaving their cars behind at the venue and walking the block down the road to the shop, all of them amusingly overdressed in their fancy business-dinner attire. The shop is surprisingly crowded, so Kris picks up the cakes to go, and they continue to stroll instead of eating them there.

Kris waits until Chanyeol is several bites into his cake before he starts. “Can we talk about what happens now?” he asks.

Chanyeol stops mid-bite, looks at him, and then swallows. “I was wondering when this would come up,” he says. “You’re not wasting any time, are you?”

Grinning, Kris gestures at the cake. “Have I buttered you up enough yet, or should I buy you champagne, too?”

Chanyeol doesn’t laugh. His eyes drop down, watching the sidewalk in front of him as they walk. Slowly, the smile drops off of Kris’s face, as well.

“Joonmyun didn’t tell you, did he,” Chanyeol murmurs. He glances up to catch their reactions. “I retired from the scene.”

“Holy shit,” Kyungsoo murmurs.

Kris’s pulse is pounding. “You… you retired? You’re not taking subs at all anymore?”

Shaking his head, Chanyeol says, “You and Baek were my last two clients anyway. With Baek passed off to Soo and you and I unable to continue our relationship, suddenly I had no one relying on me for the first time in seven years. I. It was so. It was _freeing_ , Kris.” He takes a deep breath. “And this, working in design, this is what I actually went to school for, what I always wanted to do. I’ve been trying to break into the industry this entire time, and I finally got my break, and this project was so successful that Victoria offered me a permanent position on the team, and it’s just. It’s time, you know?”

“Vicky hired you?” Kyungsoo says. “That’s great!”

“Yeah, it is.” Chanyeol takes another bite of his cake and chews thoughtfully.

“So.” Kris bumps Chanyeol’s shoulder with his own, desperately trying to ignore the confused fluttering in his stomach. He will _not_ panic. Not yet. “What does this mean for us, then?”

Chanyeol eyes him. “Kris, there _isn’t_ an ‘us’.”

Kris’s eyes widen, gutted, but Kyungsoo only snorts. “That’s bullshit and you know it.”

“I didn’t mean - ugh. Okay. Listen. I’m really not good at this kind of shit but I’m going to try because you two deserve that much.”

Sensing that this is going to be important, Kris takes a bite of his cake to force himself to shut up and listen.

“I was twenty when I got into the scene. A kid. A _baby_ , practically. Still struggling my way through university. I found an ad for the club by accident, walked in on a dare, and stayed out of sheer curiosity.” Chanyeol aimlessly kicks at a rock on the sidewalk as they pass, watching it skitter ahead of them. “None of my friends went back, but I did. I tried being a sub at first, and enjoyed it, more than I thought I would. Then I tried being a Dom, and, well, that was that. I was hooked.”

“It was nothing but a stress reliever, at first. Then, I graduated, expecting to land a great job immediately.” He lifts his eyes for a moment. “You may have noticed that the field of visual advertising is, um, a bit competitive.”

“You didn’t find a job,” Kris guesses. “So you… became a pro-Dom instead?”

“Got it in one. By that point, I was relatively comfortable with the scene, and more than one person had suggested I charge for the service. I needed a way to live, something to pay my rent. I thought, it’s temporary. Just until I find my dream job.” He laughs, dryly. “Seven fucking years later, here I finally am.”

Kris realizes that this might have been Chanyeol’s only opportunity to break into the field he was so clearly meant for - and suddenly remembers that Chanyeol was willing, if necessary, to give it up completely for the sake of Kris’s comfort. His heart swells painfully. “So now that you have that dream job,” he says, “you’re planning to leave the scene behind? Completely?”

Chanyeol takes a deep breath. “Probably not forever,” he admits. “It’s too much a part of me. But I need a break. I need to concentrate on what comes next.”

Kris wants to say _but what about me? Can’t you stay just for me?_ But he knows that’s too selfish to even be voiced. Instead, he says, “I don’t want you to disappear.” He takes Chanyeol’s arm, wrapping his fingers gently around the inside of his elbow. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“I know,” Chanyeol says tightly, his eyes fluttering shut. “But what could we be? I can’t be your Dom, I won’t have the energy or the time, and I… I’m not sure I’d even be able to, anymore. Not now that I really… _know_ you.” He huffs. “You look far too good on top of the world for me to only see you on your knees.”

Fuck, what a fucking statement. “You don’t have to be my Dom, Yeol,” Kris says. “Just stay. Just be in my life. Please.”

“You _have_ a boyfriend!” Chanyeol exclaims. “And you two are - fuck, you’re so perfect together, I can’t come between that. I can’t come _near_ that.”

Kris blinks, startled at the outburst. Kyungsoo holds up a hand. “Okay, one, you’re literally standing between us right now, does it look like either of us minds? Two, it’s really fucking telling that Kris says ‘stay in my life’ and you hear ‘I want a relationship.’”

“I’m not an _idiot_ , Kyungsoo. Of course he wants a relationship.” Kris can’t exactly argue with that, so he just shrugs. “But that’s my point. I don’t do _relationships_. I literally do not know how.”

Kris frowns. “What do you mean?”

“I was a twenty-year-old _complete virgin_ when I joined the scene,” Chanyeol admits. “Never had sex. Never been in a relationship. Hell, I’d barely ever held hands with someone. The scene is where I grew up, it’s all I know.” He takes a shuddering breath. “I know exactly what I’m doing in a scene, but in a scene there are rules. There are limitations. Safeguards. Relationships don’t have that. _Love_ doesn’t have that.”

Silence, for a moment, nothing but the sounds of the street. “You’re scared,” Kyungsoo finally says.

Chanyeol snorts. “You’re damn right I am.”

“You know Kris is in love with you and you’re terrified of it.”

“Oh, it’s worse than that.” Crushing his empty cake wrapper in his hand, Chanyeol tosses it at a trash can as they pass. “I think I might love him back. But I don’t know for sure. Because I don’t know what this kind of love really feels like.”

Kris’s hand tightens on Chanyeol’s arm. His insides feel like fireworks, but he stays silent, unwilling to risk saying the wrong thing.

“If it helps, I’m pretty certain you _do_ love him back,” Kyungsoo says.

Both of them look at him. “Why do you say that?” Kris asks, because Chanyeol looks totally dumbstruck.

Kyungsoo’s dark eyes flick to Kris’s, amused. “Because I see what Chanyeol hides from you,” he says. “I see the way he looks at you when you’re not looking. I hear his voice when he talks about you, I can practically feel his care when we plan out the next scene for you. I saw him tonight, watching you speak.” He raises an eyebrow. “I saw him losing his fucking mind at the side of your hospital bed.”

“As if I had any goddamn right to be there in the first place,” Chanyeol mumbles. “It was my fucking fault he was in that state, because I’m an asshole who has no idea how to handle adult fucking feelings.” He huffs. “Look. All of this is moot. My point is, I need to get out before I do some actual damage to someone. To you two, or… or to myself.”

Kris’s heart feels like it’s going to snap right in half. “Don’t. Yeol, don’t, don’t pull away.”

“I _have to_.” He _physically_ pulls away at that point, yanking his arm out of Kris’s grip. “I can’t risk fucking you two up, and I _won’t_. I would never be able to live with myself again.”

“Yah, Park Chanyeol, has anyone told you you’re a fucking moron?” Kyungsoo snaps. “You love him. It’s so obvious. And he loves you. How dare you throw him away?” 

Chanyeol stares at him. All three of them have stopped walking forward, standing in a cluster in the middle of an empty sidewalk, half-lit by a nearby shop’s single golden light. “I’m not _throwing him away,_ ” Chanyeol argues. “I’m trying to _save_ him. And you. Both of you! I won’t come between you!”

“You know what I think?” Kyungsoo shoots back. “I think you’ve spent so many years making decisions on behalf of other people that you’ve forgotten how to look after yourself _and_ how to listen to others. Congratu-fucking-lations. You’ve become such a martyr that you’ve effectively made both us _and_ yourself miserable.”

His tone is so biting, it literally makes Chanyeol take a step back. Kris automatically holds a hand up to his shoulders, catching him, steadying him.

“Chanyeol,” Kris says, cutting Kyungsoo off before he can get any louder. “A few weeks ago, you asked me what I would want, if I could choose how this played out. What about you?” Chanyeol looks over his shoulder at him. “If you could make it turn out your way, any way you wanted, what would you choose?”

Chanyeol is silent, for a long, long moment. His eyes are shadowed in the dim golden light, unreadable.

“I don’t _want_ to walk away from you,” he finally says, a quiet cannonball that slams into Kris’s heart. “If I could magically make it turn out any way I want, I’d want it _all_. I want you to be with Kyungsoo, and be with me. Be my sub, and be my partner. But that can’t - ” He sighs. “Like you said before. I can’t have both.”

Kris glances at Kyungsoo, and sees the smugness in his eyes. All Soo wanted was for Chanyeol to admit it, and for Kris, that’s all the permission he needs.

“Why can’t you?” he asks. “Why can’t we have both?”

Chanyeol blinks. “In what universe is Kyungsoo going to share his practically perfect boyfriend with another man?”

“Hey, asshole, how about you _ask_ about that instead of just assuming?” Kyungsoo snipes. “You make Kris happy, and you support him in a completely different way than I do. It doesn’t have to be as complicated as you’re making it.”

Finally, _finally_ , it seems like they are getting through. “It doesn’t?” Chanyeol asks, with a painful amount of hope in his voice. He seems so young. “You would really… Soo, that’s…”

“He’s wonderful, isn’t he?” Kris murmurs.

Chanyeol turns to him, facing him squarely, his hands stretching tentatively into the space between their bodies. “But what if I fuck it up?” he asks. “Something could go wrong.”

Kris shrugs. “Something could always go wrong, Yeol. Life doesn’t have a safeword.” He takes Chanyeol’s hands. “Let’s give it a shot anyway?”

Biting his lip, Chanyeol says, “That’s an awfully big risk to take, just for me.”

“I think it will be worth it,” Kris tells him seriously.

Chanyeol searches his face, and then tugs him in close. This kiss is unlike any they’ve had before it, tentative and hopeful, the way a first kiss might be.

They break apart, and Chanyeol takes a deep, steadying breath.

“Okay,” he says. “Let’s give it a shot.”

 

~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~  
~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~  
~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~

 

The first time Kris sees Chanyeol nude, he’s actually kind of shocked at how normal-looking he is.

“What?” Chanyeol asks defensively, but he’s bright red, his arms crossing over his chest. Kris follows the movement with his eyes, taking him in. He’s skinnier than Kris imagined he would be, but it’s all muscle. He’s beautiful.

Kris steps forward and runs his hands down Chanyeol’s arms, admiring his smooth, pale skin and lean shape. “When was the last time you were naked in front of someone else?” he asks, as he tugs Chanyeol closer.

Chanyeol unfolds his arms to embrace Kris, sliding hands around Kris’s sides and up his equally bare back. “You’re gonna laugh at me,” he mutters.

Ooh. “That long, huh?”

Sighing, Chanyeol admits, “I haven’t been naked in a sexual context since I was a sub myself.” Kris blinks, shocked. “Remaining clothed while Dom-ing was a big part of how I maintained the image of control.” He laughs. “It would have been a lot harder for my subs to take me seriously if I was naked. I mean, look at these chicken legs.” He leans, sticking one leg out to demonstrate.

Kris grabs his thigh and hauls it up before he can drop it again. It is an awfully thin thigh, but that just makes it easier for Kris to wrap his long fingers around it. “Your legs are gorgeous,” he says in all seriousness, “and I can’t wait to have them wrapped around me.”

Chanyeol does a little hop to get his balance back underneath him, but then his shin curls around Kris’s thighs, and his grip on Kris’s waist tightens. He doesn’t speak, but he clings.

Tightening his own grip, Kris buries his face in Chanyeol’s shoulder and breathes in. He still smells like Mr. Park’s cologne, but this close to the skin, Kris can smell Chanyeol too, what he _really_ smells like, a little sweet, a little sweaty, a little nervous. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asks.

“Oh yeah, I’m sure,” Chanyeol says immediately. “Just. You know. It’s been seven years since the last time I bottomed. I’m basically a virgin again so like... Take it easy on me.”

Kris kisses the bony knob on the top of his shoulder. “Yes, Mr. Park,” he murmurs, grinning.

He gets his ass smacked. “Brat,” Chanyeol says, but he’s laughing. “Come on. Fuck me.”

Letting Chanyeol’s leg down, Kris pulls him over to the bed. He falls on his back, tugging Chanyeol on top of him. “Just so you know,” he says, as Chanyeol crawls up on top of him and gets comfortable, “I am going to want you to fuck me like this at some point. Face-to-face, skin-to-skin, good old-fashioned missionary style.”

“Mmm.” Chanyeol smiles. “That a fantasy of yours? Plain old vanilla sex?”

Kris laughs. “You make my life so spicy, vanilla seems like an exciting change of pace.” He reaches down and grabs Chanyeol’s ass, pulling him up higher, until their cocks align. He can fit Chanyeol’s entire tiny ass into his hands, and he absolutely loves it. They moan together, on the same deep note.

“Besides,” Kris adds, “have you ever had vanilla cayenne ice cream? Vanilla and spice are _great_ together.”

“Ooh. Shit, that sounds good. Let’s go get ice cream.” Kris thrusts up, and Chanyeol melts into him, groaning. “ _After_ the sex. Yeah.”

Kissing his neck, Kris hums in agreement. “Sounds like a plan.” He reaches for the lube on the bedside table.

Chanyeol’s body might be long and broad, but it’s also very, very tight, and his asshole is no exception. Kris goes slow, holding Chanyeol close with one hand and gently circling his rim with the other, getting him warmed up, getting him used to the sensation. Chanyeol shivers and clings, surprisingly vocal, his moans bone-shaking and heartfelt.

“Okay,” he breathes. “I’m ready. One finger, go ahead.”

Kris grins and obeys, carefully pushing his finger inside Chanyeol, up to the first knuckle. “I should have known you’d be a bossy bottom,” he murmurs.

“Aaaaaahhhhh, ahhh, sorry,” Chanyeol gasps, squirming like a fish on a hook. “Habit.”

“Don’t apologize.” Kris crooks his finger a little, rotating his hand to stretch Chanyeol’s rim a bit, and revels in the violence of Chanyeol’s aroused shudder. “I like it when you tell me what to do.”

Chanyeol rocks back a little, pushing himself onto Kris’s finger. “Ohhh. That’s g-good, because I don’t know if I can stop myself,” he breathes. “More, more, come on.”

Kris pushes his finger in all the way and waits for further instruction, enjoying the way Chanyeol’s insides clench and flutter. “You’re going to feel so amazing on my cock,” he whispers.

“Your cock is going to feel so amazing in me,” Chanyeol shoots back. He rocks, rubbing his slightly softened erection against Kris’s until it perks back up again, and his ass is stretched and taking Kris’s finger smoothly. “You’re bigger than anyone I’ve ever - shit, Kris. Go easy on me?”

Peppering his face with kisses, Kris murmurs, “I do know what I’m doing, you know. You don’t have to be nervous.”

Laughter. Chanyeol’s face is red. “I know. I’m. Just. Ah, fuck, sorry.” He blows out a long breath and arches, pushing back. “You do feel good. It’s just different, you know?”

“Yeah, I know.” There really isn’t anything in the _world_ that feels like having something foreign up your ass. It does take getting used to. “What do you think? Another?”

“Yes. Yes, please.”

The dialogue pretty much dissolves after that. Kris pushes in a second finger, keeping them tightly together and perfectly still until Chanyeol relaxes in his arms, then crooking them, pumping them, spreading them. Chanyeol moans like music and flows like waves in his arms, undulating.

He waits until Chanyeol asks for the third finger, and then waits again for the fourth. Chanyeol’s probably more than ready now, but Kris understands that this is a big deal for him, so he is patient, and doesn’t move until Chanyeol explicitly tells him it’s time.

Kris holds himself in position, but lets Chanyeol do the work, pushing back onto Kris’s cock at his own pace and in his own time. He’s way tighter than Kyungsoo, and _blazing_ fucking hot inside, and Kris’s head falls back, moaning loud as gorgeous pressure slowly envelops him. Chanyeol’s hands clench into fists against Kris’s chest, his face twisting up in agonized ecstasy.

He gets seated, his skinny ass pressing into Kris’s hips, and lets out a long breath. “Fuck, you’re big,” he grumbles.

“You okay?”

“Yup. Just give me a second.”

So Kris waits, his cock steel-hard and pulsing harder with every movement of Chanyeol’s inner muscles, all his concentration on staying still in the face of an almost overwhelming need to thrust. After a moment, Chanyeol lets out a breath, relaxing minutely, and Kris realizes Chanyeol’s own cock has softened again from the intenseness of the stretch.

He reaches forward and wraps his hand around Chanyeol’s shaft. Chanyeol jerks in surprise, but immediately moans when Kris’s hand starts to move. It doesn’t take long for his half-hard cock to grow hard again, thicker and thicker, long and red and beautiful.

“I will never get over how gorgeous your cock is,” Kris murmurs, tightening his grip and making his strokes long and slow. “Look at this fucking thing. If you think taking mine is difficult, imagine how yours feels inside me.”

It’s cool to be able to see and feel Chanyeol’s pulse of arousal in every part of his body, face and hands and ass and cock. “No one’s ever taken my cock quite the way you do, Beautiful,” Chanyeol murmurs, his voice a little strained. “I hope I can make you feel a small fraction of the amazingness you make me feel.”

He lifts his body, his long thighs flexing, and slowly sits back down. Kris chokes on whatever words he had planned to say, the friction driving coherency right from his mind.

It stays that slow for a while. Chanyeol is obviously having trouble adjusting, breathing harshly through pursed lips, his movements careful. Kris keeps his hand on Chanyeol’s cock, stroking in time with Chanyeol’s movement, distracting himself from how fucking amazing this feels so he doesn’t embarrass himself.

Eventually, Chanyeol’s viselike ass relaxes a bit, and his expression melts from pain to pleasure, and he starts to really bounce in earnest, fucking himself on Kris’s cock with an eagerness that drives Kris’s breath out of his body. They’re both moaning loud now, no other conversation, no other thoughts. Chanyeol’s moving too much for Kris to keep a grip on his cock, so he grabs Chanyeol’s hips instead, helping him, meeting each bounce with a sharp thrust. Intense pleasure makes him want to close his eyes, but he forces them to remain open because the sight of Chanyeol using his erection like a toy is too amazing to miss.

“Oh, god, I want you to come inside me,” Chanyeol moans, and Kris sucks in a sharp, surprised breath. The pressure around his cock tightens - Chanyeol’s squeezing him on purpose! - and the rhythm speeds. “Come on. Come on, baby, I need it.”

Ah, _fuck_. Kris tightens his grip and starts to fuck up hard, pounding into Chanyeol’s body double-time. Chanyeol arches, throwing his head back, one hand clenching his own knee and the other flying up to dig into his black hair. He’s beautiful, _so_ beautiful, Kris’s pace speeds even more, pleasure coiling like a spring inside him, tighter and tighter and _tighter_.

“ _Yifan,_ ” Chanyeol moans, and Kris _explodes_.

He manages to drag his eyes open again quickly, while his roar of pleasure is still echoing off the walls, and watches Chanyeol’s face as he finishes pumping come into Chanyeol’s body. Chanyeol is glassy-eyed and open mouthed, staring sightlessly at the wall, his entire body shivering. He looks so overcome, Kris feels arousal take him over yet again, jerking out one last desperate pulse of come. Kris goes limp, sudden exhaustion taking him over, retaining just enough strength to reach up and drag Chanyeol down onto his chest.

“Fucking _hell_ ,” he whispers.

“You’re telling me,” Chanyeol murmurs, squirming. His cock is still rock-hard, rubbing restlessly against Kris’s abs. “Wow.”

“I have impeccable timing,” a third voice says.

They both look up. Kyungsoo is leaning in the doorway, dressed in leather and silk, looking exhausted but fond.

Kris smiles, endorphins making him feel silly and giddy. “Enjoy the show, baby?”

“Fuck yes. What a thing to come home to.” Kyungsoo steps into the room and pulls the door shut behind him. He’s stripping out of his clothes immediately, waistcoat hitting the floor and shirt opening. Kris doesn’t miss the way Chanyeol stiffens in his arms, but he also doesn’t miss the clench of Chanyeol’s insides around his softening cock as Kyungsoo twists out of his shirt and stalks towards them in nothing but a pair of skintight leather pants.

“Have you come yet?” Kris asks, a thought beginning to form in his mind.

“Nope. It’s fucking torture. Baek’s ass practically _screams_ for a good dicking.” Baek and Kyungsoo are taking their new relationship slowly, so there hasn’t been any sexual contact yet, though not for lack of desire on Kyungsoo’s part. Not that Kris can blame him, really. Baek _does_ have a gorgeous ass.

Kris pushes at Chanyeol’s thighs until Chanyeol lifts off his cock, both of them moaning softly at the separation. “Can Soo join us?” he asks Chanyeol.

“I certainly have no objections, if he doesn’t,” Chanyeol rumbles back.

“Great.” Kyungsoo opens his trousers and shucks them, and his underwear, in one movement. He is, as Kris predicted, furiously hard, his cock purple-red and standing straight out. “Scoot over.”

They scoot. Kris ends up on his side, spooned around Chanyeol’s back, as Kyungsoo slides into the bed and into Chanyeol’s arms. Immediately, Kris reaches around Chanyeol’s side and takes both cocks in his hand, the one that still has lube on it from fingering Chanyeol earlier.

“Oh, fuck,” Chanyeol whispers, and Kyungsoo moans gratefully. “Yeah. Fuck, _yeah_.”

“You’re welcome,” Kris says smugly, and starts to jerk them off together.

Both of them are exhausted, he knows that. That’s okay. He can take care of them, this time. After all, they both take care of him every single day.

Curling closer, Kyungsoo pushes his legs between Chanyeol’s to tangle in Kris’s. Chanyeol’s arm slides around Kyungsoo’s back as Kris’s pace picks up, and he starts rocking his hips counterpoint to Kris’s strokes, increasing the friction.

Kyungsoo comes first, not an explosion, but a grateful, relieved sigh. His come adds to the slick mess in Kris’s hand, and as he pulls back, Kris tightens his grip and concentrates on Chanyeol, pressing his lips to the back of Chanyeol’s neck as he pumps harder and faster.

He can’t help the pride, the fondness, the love that squeezes his heart when Chanyeol finally comes, shuddering in Kris’s arms, his mouth open in silent ecstasy, pressed against Kyungsoo’s hair.

All three relax, skin pressed to skin pressed to skin, and do nothing but breathe for a long moment.

Then, Kyungsoo shifts. “I’m hungry,” he murmurs.

A low groan, vibrating Kris’s sternum. “Me too,” Chanyeol admits. “Do you have anything we could make, here?”

This is adorable. “It’s like, _midnight_ , you two.”

“Look. My stomach doesn’t give a shit what the clock says. And you can always use another meal.” Chanyeol rolls over between them, naked and sticky and gorgeous, to face Kris. “You worked hard, you should eat.”

“You did all the work!”

“You should eat anyway. Come on.” He tugs Kris on top of himself. Laughing, Kris rolls onto him, kissing him a couple of times and then leaning over to kiss Kyungsoo too, just because.

Sitting up, Kyungsoo stretches out and grabs the tissues on the nightstand. “I think we have everything for pajeon,” he murmurs, wiping himself off and tossing the box at Kris. It bounces softly off his shoulder, landing on the bed. “Aren’t you supposed to be a cook, Chanyeol? Come on, let’s see what you’ve got.”

He gets up, and Kris sits up as well, watching him amble out to the kitchen butt naked. Chanyeol scoots to the edge of the bed, jostling Kris with his shoulder.

“You know,” he says, “maybe you guys are right. Maybe this really will work, after all.”

Smiling, his heart glowing like a firefly in his chest, Kris kisses him in response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to DM for inspiring this fic, to Line for betaing it and keeping me encouraged, and to Kathryn for giving it a final once-over once it was all done. (Honorable mention to my husband, who had to listen to me verbally work out plot kinks out loud, the poor dear.)
> 
> ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
> 
> I was asked to give some of the references I worked from, so here:
> 
> I started with the Wikipedia articles on [BDSM](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/BDSM), [Consent in BDSM](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Consent_\(BDSM\)), [Animal roleplay](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Animal_roleplay), [St. Andrew’s cross](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saint_Andrew%27s_Cross_\(BDSM\)), [Kinbaku](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Japanese_bondage), and a bunch of related articles via click-through links.
> 
> [This video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PY_qgQcB1GA) of a very gentle beginner’s scene inspired the first chapter, and [this video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9r-T9RPRId4) shows an example of 2-handed Florentine flogging AND one possible setup for Mr. Park’s playroom.
> 
> All of the floggers shown in this story were inspired by [DeTails Toys](http://www.detailstoys.com/floggers/). Mr. Park uses a Deerskin and two Elk floggers, plus the Rose Flogger which is the first item under [Specialty Floggers](http://www.detailstoys.com/specialty/). Please also check out the advertisement for their instructional video, which is embedded at the bottom of the Specialty Floggers page. It’s hosted on PornHub but the actual video is pretty tame. There’s some nipples, that’s it.
> 
> I also referenced this website about [Kinbaku](http://kinbakuluxuria.com/dir/about/kinbaku-shibari/), [BDSM for beginning doms](http://dominantguide.com/1496/an-absolute-beginners-guide-to-domination-as-told-by-an-oregonian/), and a [couple](http://www.laweekly.com/news/a-peek-inside-a-bdsm-dungeon-2529679) of [articles](http://www.bustle.com/articles/12704-i-spent-the-night-at-a-bdsm-dungeonall-in-the-name-of-research) about [BDSM](http://metro.co.uk/2015/02/25/heres-what-happens-when-a-bondage-virgin-goes-to-a-fetish-club-5061831/) [dungeons](http://nypost.com/2015/02/08/inside-new-york-citys-hidden-sm-dungeon/).
> 
> ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
> 
> The response to this fic has been amazing, and I can’t thank you all enough. Your comments have been overwhelmingly positive and encouraging, and I’m really excited to see everyone who told me this fic mirrored your own experiences, and also those who told me this fic opened your eyes to something new.
> 
> As always, you can find me on [Livejournal](http://queenbee-12.livejournal.com/), [AFF](https://www.asianfanfics.com/profile/view/312578), [Tumblr](http://unnie-bee.tumblr.com/), and [ask.fm](http://ask.fm/unnie_bee). Until next time, my friends!


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